Thicker than Water
by twistedcoincidence
Summary: Sisters have a special bond, stronger than friendship, more sacred than a significant other. Bella has always been the perfect big sister, then again, her sister has never possessed something so appealing. AH/AU
1. Chapter 1

**A/N- So this is the new one. A relatively short (9-10 chaps) look at the relationship between sisters. Please please please let me know what you think!**

**Special thanks as always to sah who not only saves me (and you) from my awful grammar, but keeps my butt in line.**

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"And then she had the nerve to get angry at me for wanting to go home," Emma drones. I click my tongue confirming her disbelief, but keep my eyes glued to the computer screen in front of me.

It's a morning ritual of ours. Most mornings, while she drives into work, my sister calls to update me on the rolling drama that is her life. Everything is exaggerated and made to seem like catastrophic events, rather than the simple comings and goings of the people in her life. And most mornings I enjoy it. It's a mindless, entertaining way to start my day. A mild distraction from the tedium of opening my shop.

"Bella! Are you even listening? I can hear you typing," she whines playfully. My hands ease away from the keys and I lean back in my chair. This is my role. As the older sister, I listen and comment, always in her favor, and then act happy to report that there is nothing of any significance going on in my life.

And it's the truth. My life couldn't be further from the drama and glamour that surrounds Emma. As a junior editor for a fashion magazine, her life is all fashion shows and deadlines. While the most dramatic thing that happens in my job are the floral deliveries every Monday and Wednesday.

I sound put out, like I envy her, and I do, to a small extent. But, her life would swallow me whole. Emma was always more inclined to leap before looking, never worrying about what could happen in the future. While my life is an exercise in control.

People smile politely when I tell them what I do. A shop owner is such a small feat. Hardly even worthy of the business degree from the state college hanging over my dad's desk. But when you talk about Em, Em and her Ivy League education and high profile job, people's eyes light up. They want to know details. Hear about the celebrities she's met, the cities she's traveled to.

"Of course I'm listening Em, I just have to get these invoices in before I can open," I reply easily.

"Such a workaholic. What happened to that girl you hired to help you out? Can't she do that?" she asks. There's no point in trying to explain to her that the high school girl I hired can only help after school, or that I can't really afford to have someone, other than me, here most days.

"It's fine. So what's going on with you and Steven?" I ask, changing the subject. I chew on the inside of my cheek as I wait for the answer.

"He's done. I never thought it would last to begin with. I mean, he's still in his undergrad," she answers tersely. I roll my eyes at her answer. She says that like she didn't graduate just six months ago. The conversations transitions to more causal things, music and movies. I laugh as she details her opinion of the latest Brad Pitt movie.

"Oh, that reminds me, I met someone who has the same screwy taste in music that you do," she chirps. By this point, I've moved on from the computer, now trying to put together a bouquet for Mrs. Williams. I bite my tongue as she jabs my music.

"Oh yeah? So they 're enlightened as well?" I tease. She laughs and I join in. Despite the differences and the underlying sibling rivalry, she's still my little sister and usually my best friend.

"He actually recognized almost every one on that mix CD you sent me," she offers. I lift my shoulder in an attempt to balance the phone between my collarbone and ear. I hum a response and pluck a few peonies from the table. My attempt to broaden her music horizons beyond the top 40's is a monthly mix CD. Most of which she listens to long enough to comment on the 'unsingablility' of most of the songs.

"I guess he's really into music and all that. Actually, you'd probably really like him," she continues. I murmur another response. It's better when I don't try to interject myself into the conversation. I pluck another flower from the table and wait.

"He's actually taking me to a concert this weekend. Says I'll appreciate the music better live," she chuckles like the notion is ridiculous. My chest clenches in a wave of jealousy. This part of her life is the hardest to listen to. The constant revolving door of men. Like they're pastries.

My dating history reads more like a brief tally than any kind of story. A couple of weeks with a third string soccer player in high school, and a few dates scattered throughout college. A tragic mix of social foot-in-the-mouth-disease, and it just being so much easier to avoid trying.

"Who are you going to see?" I ask. I hope its someone cheesy, that turns off my interest instantly. I wait for her response, mentally begging her to say Britney Spears.

"Cold War Kids. Doesn't it sound emo? I almost said no just based on that name, but he insisted that they're good," she rattles off. I groan internally. Not fair. I almost beg her to get a t-shirt or something I can vicariously live through her with, but resist.

"So he's the new Steven then? Should I know his name?" I ask. Now my interest is peaked. My usual low burn of jealous turned up to a simmer. She laughs. I can hear her entering her office, greeting people as she walks by.

"Don't insult him by comparing him to Steven. Edward is in his final year of law school," she chides. Edward. Doesn't even sound like a name that Emma would go for. She hurries off the phone as usual, caught up in work.

I toss the phone into my purse and flip the open sign on my window. I move around the small shop slowly, savoring the details, trying to console myself. As my hands trail along the organic dish soaps and hand pressed stationary, I feel a little more grounded.

This is the life I chose for myself. No one asked me to go to school close to home. My parents would have extended me the same courtesy as Emma, but I wanted to be close to them. I wanted to be there when Emma was the lead in the school play, to see her off to prom. I wanted to help my mom plant the garden in the Spring, and watch college football in the Fall with my dad.

But when you're young and making those choices, no one ever tells you that it will shape every other piece of your life. No one tells you, that by staying close to home you're keeping strings attached that should be snipped. That the security and comfort your family bring can someday feel more like a lead anchor.

And then it's too late. Then you're 25, and while you have a small successful business and live on your own, you've never really spread your wings. Your empty jars full of 'what-ifs' and 'could-have-beens'.

Slowly the customers stream in. Charlotte and her mother on their walk to school. Mrs. Williams picking up her arrangement. These are the characters in my life. The people who play repeating roles. I find joy in sneaking Charlotte a stray flower to put in her backpack and listening to Mrs. Williams tell me how someday she'll set me up with her grandson.

I let them distract me from my fruitless self-pity. For a while, I forget about my sister and her new interest. I can't even bring myself to think of it as more. When the morning business trails off, my mind wanders back to him. Edward. His name rolls around in my mind, trying to collect an image to go along with it.

For some reason, the only thing that appears are lips. Soft and red, slightly lifted in a smile. And a fleeting idea of hands, long fingers and pale skin. I shake even that meager image from my thoughts. Usually Emma's romantic leads are slightly cheesy, and always blonde. But just the idea of Edward with those qualities doesn't work.

"Where's you mind at Ms. Bella?" I shake my head to see Jessica, my high school helper, standing in front of me. I smile at her and thwart off her questions. As she takes over the front of the shop, I wander to the back and lose myself in flowers.

I slide ear buds into my ears and carefully avoid Cold War Kids. The music flows over me, and I revel in the thoughtlessness it provides me. I love my shop, but music is my passion. Not being gifted to create my own, I indulge in other people's gifts. The best part of my days are getting lost in lyrics and feeling my heart race along with a drumbeat.

My phone buzzes in the corner and I hear the noise between songs. I reach for it and smile.

'**Your type is already turning out better than my usual choices. Edward sent me a cupcake dessert for lunch:)'**

Just when I had banished the hypothetical Edward to the back of my mind, the lips and hands rush forward again. I growl internally and delete the message without a reply. I might get hell about that later, but it's better that way.

My finger twirls around the face of my iPod, turning up the volume. He's just another one of Emma's many. I'll just avoid him in conversation as much as possible, and then he'll be gone like all the others.

The music crowds out all other thought until Jessica taps me on my shoulder. I jump and hold an open palm over my heart, feeling the stuttering rhythm. I tug on the left bud, letting the real world back in.

"I closed the register down and your phone has been ringing for the last half hour," Jessica lists. I nod my head and thank her. I walk her to the door and lock it behind her. The setting sun hits my eyes, and I squint it back. The shop glows with evening light and I almost loose myself in the moment, until my phone rings again.

I smile as Queen fills the room. The beginning strains of Bohemian Rhapsody announcing my parents call.

"Momma," I breathe as I answer.

"Oh Bella baby, I'm so sorry to bother you, but your father said that if I broke my printer one more time he would take it away, and you know how I love to print off recipes," she rambles. I chuckle. Emma got her energy and dramatics from my mother. Like most of her traits. My mother's wavy hair, her delicate features, her tiny build. I, on the other hand, was blessed to be my father's daughter.

In so many ways, it's not a bad thing. My even temperament, my sarcastic sense of humor, even the deep brown of my eyes, but in other ways, it's not as pleasing. The girly things that came so easily to Emma, were not as natural to me.

When in grade school, Emma wore my mother's old cheer uniform for Halloween, while I wore a sheet as a ghost. Even then, I knew the difference between her tiny figure and mine. That wasn't saying that I didn't get pieces of my mother. We shared the same lips and variations on a nose.

My hand ghosts down my side with my thoughts. The line smooth, but fuller than I would like. I shake those thoughts from my head. It was a dark road I didn't let myself travel down.

"So you need me to come look at it Momma?" I ask. She sighs heavily.

"Would it be too much trouble baby? I mean, I know you live in the city now, and coming home isn't exactly quick," she offers like she doesn't want me to come. This is a game we play. Her wanting to ask, but not wanting me to feel obligated. Part of her small effort to let me go, to make me cut those strings.

I tell her I'll be there in an hour and turn back to my shop. The dreamlike light is gone now, leaving only the small artificial glow of the lamp on my desk. I pull a deep breath in and fill myself with man made optimism.

Wishful thinking is just that, thoughts. The life I've made is good, even if I do find holes once in a while. I pull my purse onto my shoulder and head out the door. You just have to make the most of what you have.

***

**So? interested? not so much? i want to know what you think...**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N- thank you to everyone who reviewed and read the last chapter. i'm writing this pretty quick, so the updates should be pretty regular.**

**thanks to sah004 who continues to kick my horrible spelling ass.**

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Sometimes, life goes just the way I want it. Like when the flower delivery guy comes exactly at 7 am, and has an extra bunch of seasonal flowers for me. And then there's the other, less exciting route. Case in point, my attempt to avoid Emma's new attachment.

Like some sort of cruel joke, Em has decided that Edward and I are two pieces of the same puzzle. And this warrantsher needing to go over, in detail, every interaction they'vehad. My insight has apparently made this relationship easier. Better than my recent efforts.

So I now know more about Edward Cullen then I do about some of my closest friends. Things like, he likes maple syrup with his bacon, hates everything to do with shaving, and someday hopes to own at least two dogs. All this knowledge makes me feel like a peeping Tom. Knowing so much about a stranger, who knows nothing about me.

Our morning talks have become a dread. I've even missed a few, in an effort to slow this leak of information on all things Edward Cullen. The guilt I feel when I hit the ignore button every time my sister call, pales in comparison to the agony of having to listen to more of her stories.

Because the name now has a face. No more fuzzy images of lips and hands, but a full photo album devoted to their courtship on my sister's Facebook page. Pictures mostly taken with his iPhone. Their faces pressed close to fit in the frame. The background and their outfits, changing with every shot. One shottaken at the concert I envied so much, and then three more taken at shows with equally enviable bands. The pairat the park for an outdoor play, at a farmers market, the movies, the list goes on.

And if the locations weren't enough to make the simmer of my jealousy rise, there was the reality of Edward. He was neither cheesy nor blonde. Two things that usually ensured my sister and I keeping our tastes apart. Instead, Edward was lanky and tall, with an unruly head of brown hair that revealed hidden reds in the light. His face usually covered by a couple of days of scruff, due to the previously mentioned hate of shaving.

Together, this package was worse than the things I had imagined. Edward wasn't Emma's type at all. So, I was left to "hmm" and "haw"through conversations with my sister. To act like helping her unfold the mystery that Edward was to her didn't tear at me piece by piece. Because he wasn't a mystery to me.

When she raged about him not wanting to go out with her usual friends, I talked her down, saying that he might prefer a more low key environment. And I was right. I was right because we were from the same puzzle, and it sucked ass.

The worst of all the conversationswas when I was informed that Edward would be coming home with Emma for the Christmas break. I spit my morning tea across my workbench when she told me. The only thing worse than knowing your sister was dating someone you wish you were, was seeing it in action.

My parents are beside themselves with excitement. Emma hasn't brought someone home since she moved away, and my mother hasn't been shy about saying that this might be her chance at grandbabies.

I fiddle with my radio and internally curse living closer to the airport than my parents. Bon Iver flows through the speakers and I relax just a little. I need an escape from my mind, even if it's only a small one.

Traffic trickles forward, and I fiddle with the hem of my shirt. There was an unexpected rush at the shop before closing, and I didn't get the chance to change like I'd wanted**.**There had been a plan. I was going to change into something that didn't have fertilizer and flower stains across the front. There should have been time for me to attempt to tame my hair. No luck again.

My lip finds its way between my teeth, and I chew on them, hoping to ease my nerves. The airport circles into view and I pick up my phone.

"Bella! Are you here? We're waiting on the departures level, like Daddy always tells us to," Emma rambles without greeting. I chuckle against my nerves.

"Yeah, traffic was awful. Wait for me under the United sign?" I ask. I swerve the car towards the right ramp.

"We're under the Delta sign Bella. Edward's got one of those hideous beanies on." Emma shrieks as Edward protests in the background. His voice sounds deep and melodic. _I am so screwed_. The Delta sign comes into view, and I issue a silent plea to have Edward be less of everything I think he is.

I see the mentioned beanie before anything else, and I wish I could say I thought it was hideous. The rush of warmth I feel as his face comes into view solidifies my decision. There's only one way to deal with this.

The car door is ripped open before I even come to a full stop.

"Bella!" Emma sings, launching herself across the car at me. I give her an awkward hug before climbing out of the car. Edward is already putting the bags in the trunk as I round the car. He smiles softly at me and I steel myself. I offer a short smile.

"I'm Bella," I offer. I keep my hands to myself, not willing to risk even a handshake. He smiles widely at me and I almost fall back at the sight.

"Edward, but I'm guessing you knew that given my beanie," he teases. I smile tersely again and walk around him to my sister. She launches herself at me again, her lips resting near my ear.

"Isn't he fantastic? I know you're going to love him," she breathes. And she's already found the problem. She then takes over. Emma begins to detail their flight, including the crying baby two rows in front of them. Both Edward and I settle into the car, seemingly content with our silence.

While Emma dialogues, I glance at Edward in the rearview. As she complains about the lack of adequate healthy snacks on airplanes, I take in Edward's features. The scar across his left eyebrow, the bump in his nose, the patch of skin where hair won't grow that disturbs his attempt at a beard.

The flaws in people have always been my niche. While most girls looks for perfection, I want the imperfection. The things that make someone different, the stories you can find in scars, always drew me in.

"Lord, this is one of those bands you've been trying to get me to listen to," Emma sighs as she reaches for the volume dial. Bon Iver fills the car. Edward meets my eyes in the mirror, and I drop my gaze instantly.

"Your sister doesn't seem to appreciate real talent," he chuckles. Emma turns in her seat to smack at him. Their laughter fills the car. My teeth grit subconsciously. Eventually, the noise dies down.

"You and Edward should have a music swap. Get it out of his system, so he can leave me alone for a while," Emma suggests. The warmth swells up again, but I kick it back down.

"I'm sure there are a lot of things Edward would rather do then trade CDs with me," I sigh. Emma, as usual, doesn't hear my words.

"She's got this insane obsession with old records. She raided my parents' whole collection and spends most of her time at these grungy records stores looking for more," Emma spews. I reach across the car and flick her on the arm.

"Owww. Goddamn Bella. What was that about? It's just Edward. He doesn't care," she defends. Only Edward, I wish.

"I have the same weak spot. I've been looking for a decent copy of The Beach Boys _Pet Sounds_ forever," he says. He's making my plan hard to stick to. I shake my head and keep my eyes on the road.

"Ignore her. She's probably just in business mode," Emma excuses me. I take the east out, my mind drifting away from this car and the stifling presence of Edward. The drive passes, and I've never been happier to see my childhood home come into view.

Renee rushes out of the door and immediately captures Emma and Edward. I take a few moments in the car. His smell still swirls around me, and I finally take it in. It's subtle and natural, and I can only take a few breaths before I seek refuge in the fresh air.

"Left with bag duty again huh kid?" I look up to see my dad circling the car. I offer him a half smile and pop the trunk.

"You see that kid your sister brought home? Never thought I'd see the day Emma put up with a man not shaving every day," he chuckles. I nod wordlessly. At least I'm not the only one who sees the oddity. We pull the bags from the trunk and I let my dad take the heavy ones.

"I'm sorry, I can take those." My head whips up as Edward approaches. He stretches out his hands, trying to take the bags from my dad. My dad shakes his head and pulls the bags out of reach.

"We've go it under control here son. You go in and humor my girls," my dad instructs. Edward rocks back on his heels and takes the pair of us in. I drop my eyes.

"Two of your girls," Edward corrects. We all stop our progress towards the house.

"Excuse me?" my dad laughs. Edward turns his head, disguising the tone of his words with a smile.

"One of your girls is right here. So I would only be humoring two," Edward rattles off. My face flames. I've overlooked my dad's preference for years, happy to be his buddy rather than his little girl. Dad lets his eyes bounce between Edward and I several times before clearing his throat.

"Yeah, of course," he states. He then rushes through the door first, leaving Edward and I on the porch alone. He looks at me long and hard, making me feel even less comfortable in my skin. He opens his mouth for a moment, but I beat him to the punch.

"Emma's gonna want to show you around. You should go in," I tell him. His mouth snaps shut. He swallows and looks to his feet before leaving me. I wait, giving him enough time to be out of my path before entering.

His words bounce around in my mind, coupling with all my knowledge and gaining momentum. Creating a more appealing picture, which is the last thing I need.

The night passes quickly, a blur of my mother combined with Emma. With all their excitement and words, I easily fade into the background. Edward fits in seamlessly. Taking my mother's inquisition with ease and confidence. More information enters my file of Edward Cullen.

His family doesn't mind him missing the holiday because he lives close to home. He sees them all a couple times a month at the least and they were willing to spare him with the promise we could do the same with Emma sometime soon.

Just the suggestion of a continued future twists my stomach. I beg out of dessert and retreat to my childhood room. Their laughter continues to haunt me through the floorboards. I turn on the boom box, smiling at the Pixies CD left there. I twist the volume high enough to drown out the voices below.

My bed swallows me as I lay down and I close my eyes for a moment.

My body jars awake and my eyes struggle to see in the darkness. I find the red numbers on the alarm clock and groan. Midnight. _So much for a full nights sleep_. I slide out of bed and apologize to my lower body for falling asleep in jeans. I bump my way towards my dresser and peal my jeans off. Once replaced with high school swim team sweats, I feel instantly better.

Acting out of old habits, I make my way to the kitchen. The fridge light burns my eyes as I pour a glass of water. My hands curl around the cool glass and I slink into the living room and down into the couch. Sleep has always evaded me. My parents tolerated my nighttime restlessness, as long as it didn't affect school. Now they accept it as part of who I am.

The TV casts a soft light around the room and I flick through channels before finding something somewhat relaxing. I squirm further into the couch and pull a blanket over me. My mind calms and I allow the comforts of my childhood to lull me.

"Twilight Zone?" Edward's soft voice knocks me out of my cocoon of safety. I jump and then twist to face him. He smiles somewhat apologetically and holds up his hands.

"I didn't mean to scare you. I guess I'm not the only one who can't sleep," he offers. I don't speak. I turn my eyes back towards the screen. On so little sleep, I'm not as capable of keeping him at arms length. The couch dips, and then he's there, just inches from my toes.

"My dad and I watch this marathon every year," he says. There aren't words. The things I want to say would simply be tethering myself to him, and that is not allowed. The black and white image on the screen isn't as interesting as the man sitting next to me, but my decision was made for me.

We continue like that for a while, the ironic punch line of the episode passing, and the next starts up. I begin to relax again, leaning on the edge of the couch. A heavy sigh breaks our mutual silence.

"Did I do something wrong?" Edward asks. His voice is soft, pleading even. I swallow thickly and dart my eyes towards him briefly. I shake my head, not trusting my voice. How do you explain this to a rational person?

"I thought you'd be the easy one to win over. I mean, the way your sister talks about you, I figured we'd get on like white on rice," he states. I can't help the laugh that slips out. He grins in my direction, and I know I have to abandon the plan. He didn't do anything wrong except fall for my sister, and I can't really hold that against him.

"No one else likes Twilight Zone. I'm only allowed to watch when everyone else is asleep," I offer. I'm hoping he takes hold of my olive branch. He shifts minutely closer.

"What's your favorite one?" he asks. His eyes are bright, his face curious. I smile and turn a little towards him. I keep the blanket as my shield, hoping that something will protect me from this hole I am digging myself.

"I'm partial to the retirement home," I admit. Out of the corner of my eyes I can see his head bobbing in agreement.

"I always loved the time stopping watch," he replies. I smile over at him and it begins. The words I had been holding back all day come pouring from my mouth. He laughs and offers his own answers when asked. Emma was right. I pretend not to know a staggering amount of information beforehand, as he gives me the answers in his own words.

Our musical tastes match almost to a 't', our only variance splitting around country music.

"No. There is no redeemable mentions," he argues. I chuckle and lean even closer to him, eager to change his mind.

"You do know that a lot of bands you claim to love can be classified as country, right? Wilco? Johnny Cash?" I point out. He groans and positions his hand over his heart like I inflicted damage.

And there isn't a low point. The conversation stretches out, the information I want and he asks for, seemingly never-ending. My eyelids droop as the sun rises in the sky. I remember giving one last jab against Facebook before falling asleep. Sleep for once takes me in whole-heartedly.

"Bella!" I blink my eyes open to see Emma leaning over me. I stretch and stir, and then freeze when my legs tangle with something hard. Instantly, I sit up and take in Edward's sleeping form, our legs twisted together in the middle of the couch.

"I didn't know he fell asleep too. I'll just…" Emma laughs and shoves me a little.

"Momma wants you to run to the store," she states. I feel my face twist in confusion. I expected anger, something more. Not wanting to press my newfound luck, I nod and extract myself. The perfect excuse to run before having to face my sleepover buddy. I need a new plan.

***

**What'd you think of Emma? Edward? let me know!**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N- i'm overwhelmed by the response to this story so far. it seems that a lot of you relate to the sister relationship and even more of you are curious to see how this plays out. regardless, your reviews are like little presents in my inbox :) thank you all!**

**once again sah has spared all of you from reading the spelling nightmare my original drafts can be. **

***

There's something sacred about a person's childhood room, something that screams safety and innocence. A place that even adulthood can't shake the magical powers of. So, it's the perfect place for me to hide. I've appeared at all the demanded times. Meals, family movies, and other traditions. But for the most part, as often as I can, I've hidden.

Not that hiding has kept me safe from all unsavory things. I've had to watch as my mother has dropped not less than 57 hints about Edward's, hopefully, upcoming proposal. I've tried and failed at missing the few sweet kisses between my sister and him. Torn my eyes away as they exchanged gifts. His endlessly thoughtful, hers predictably cliché.

But, I'd rather focus on all the moments I've missed buried in the cocoon of my bed. Here, nestled under the covers with the light only seeping in at untucked corners, I've retreated into myself. My music and an occasional book read by flashlight my only companions. I should feel ridiculous. A grown woman, hiding from her sister and her boyfriend rather than just accepting reality and dealing with something.

I squirm under the covers and twist, flipping to my other side. I have to switch hands often when reading. I forgot how quickly my arms can fall asleep. The words in front of my swirl and I blink. This has to be so bad for my eyes.

The sleepover event has not been repeated. What used to be a personal tradition had to be ended, in the effort of avoiding a future compromising position. But just the memory brings a slight tilt to the corners of my mouth. It would have been a lot more convenient if he were awful. If he only watched crime dramas and constantly smelled of old onion bagels. But, no. That would make my life too easy.

Avoiding him has been difficult. He's trying so hard. Making efforts to include me in conversations, going out of his way to ask me questions. I should send him a memo to not waste his time. Put my business school skills to use.

The top of my fortress is ripped off, and I blink up at the hazy form of my sister. Apparently, it's morning. She climbs into bed next to me and pulls the blanket back over both our heads. Like so many times in our childhood, I automatically roll to face her.

"Mom is trying to force me to hit the after Christmas sales with her," she breathes out. Her cold toes touch my leg, and I whine, pulling my legs away. She chuckles and burrows further into the bed.

"You're not going to be able to avoid her. You guys go every year. It's like your birthright," I sigh. I don't why she's pretending to not want to go. I keep my eyes lowered, worried she will be able to uncovermy crush on her boyfriend if she looks me in the eye.

"Yeah, but I don't want to drag Edward with us, and there is no way in hell I'm going to leave him with dad. Can you even imagine?" she laughs at her own joke. The silence settles back in and I resist speaking. What is normally a confessional of sorts feels like an interrogation.

"Maybe you can take him?" she suggests. I resist the urge to scold her for talking about him like he's some kind of puppy. My insides clench instantly, conflicted.

"Uhh, I don't know Em. I was going to go into the shop today. Maybe get some work done," I try to explain. She nods, her lower lip pouting slightly. It's not a complete lie. Closing on Christmas made sense, but I should open today, try to make money.

"You like him, don't you?" she asks. I begin to choke on the air. She can't know, there's no way.

"I mean, you haven't really talked with him, but you know he's a good guy right? I really want you to like him," she almost pleads. I calm my breathing and relax slightly.

"Yeah, of course I like him. He seems really fantastic," I offer. She nods again, and the look of confusion on her facerips at me just a little.

"One of the things I like the most about him is how much he reminds me of you. It's like having you around in a weird way," she continues. _Great_. I'm not sure who should be more insulted by the reference, Edward or I. And then the guilt pools up. Like it usually does when I try to deny any member of my family anything.

"Go shopping with mom. I'll take Edward with me. I'll call Jessica in and maybe I'll take him to a record store or something," I resign. And so begins the new plan, suffer in silence.

"Thank you so much Bella! I know you'll just love him, and he's just dying to see your shop," she smiles. I nod and try to smile back. It's not her fault. She couldn't possibly know that I'm coveting her boyfriend behind her back.

"It'll be great," I assure her, and me. She rips the blanket off again and leaves the room. I turn over on my stomach and groan into my pillow. I really need to learn how to say no to these people, or at the very least come up with a better hiding place.

When I emerge an hour later, the house is quiet, lacking the general noise that announces Renee and Emma's presence. I round the corner to the kitchen and skid to a stop. Edward is at the table, reading over the paper and sipping what looks to be coffee. I take a few steps back and the floor creaks, betraying me. His eyes lift to find mine, and he smiles, no he grins. Why?

Why couldn't he just be Em's usual? Then he would have gone shopping, happy to trail after her like a lap dog. And more importantly, he would pay absolutely no attention to me.

"I was beginning to think you'd bailed on me," he teases. I chuckle a little and pour myself some coffee. Words are avoided for a little longer as I sip.

"You don't have to come with me if you don't want. There's a ton of movies in the den, you could just hang here," I reply. Please take this out. Please.

"If I'd be in the way, you can just tell me," he sighs. His whole body tells the story of his disappointment, and I'm baffled. I take in his sagged shoulders, his head hanging, and the guilt usually reserved for my family rears its ugly head.

"No, no, I just didn't want you to feel like you had to come. I don't want you to be bored," I quickly correct. His whole body responds. He tilts his head up, a grin slowly forming.

"I can't imagine that hanging with you could ever be boring," he answers. My face burns and I nod. I pull my keys from my purse and head towards the door, hoping he'll just follow and I can avoid replying.

His footsteps echo behind me and I slip into my car. I turn it on and hold my breath as he slips into the passenger seat. Instantly, his fingers drum on his thigh. He turns and grins at me, and I smile back.

"This could be a huge violation of passenger seat rules, but I'm going to give you free reign over the music," I state. It's a peace offering. A small way of apologizing for treating him like a leper. His smile stretches even farther, and he reaches for the closest stash of music.

He flips through, making small comments and clicking noises with his tongue. He finally chooses one and slides it into place. The cadence builds and I smile when I recognize the melody.

"Broken Social Scene," I state. I can't help but grin over his choice. We let the music take center stage, just enjoying it. This moment will haunt me later. The ease inwhich he just fits into my world. No shoving or shaving of rough edges needed. He just fitsin, like he was meant to sit next to me like this every day.

The drive is familiar, one I could do without thought. The CD is nearing its end as I pull into the familiar parking spot, and then the nerves arrive. At that moment, like he can sense it, Edward starts talking.

"When I was younger, my grandma had this amazing garden. She'd let me help her cut flowers, and then we'd deliver them to girls on the street. I was the most popular five year old on the block," he boasts. I smile stupidly and laugh. He smiles back and watches me laugh. The laughter carries me from the car and through the door of my shop.

He presses in behind me and takes the shop in. I stand back, anxious and eager for his opinion. It takes time. His steps are slow and his gaze touches everything. I don't realize I'm holding my breath until it whooshes out, angry for being held back.

"This is pretty fucking fantastic Bella," he breathes. He turns to face me. My teeth find my lip and I appraise the shop for myself. It's small, but I never wanted anything big.

"I'm kind of partial to it," I admit. I ease past him and start switching on lights, bringing the place to life slowly. He trails after me, still fascinated by the odds and ends that make up the merchandise.

"Put me to work," he demands. His words halt my movement. I turn back to him and offer over the newest flower shipment.

"Maybe you can put those long dormant skills to use? Trim the stems for me?" I request. He nods seriously, his forehead creasing. Then he melts into the background. The work passes quickly, his presence a mere tingle on my skin as I file, sort, and organize.

In this moment, it makes sense that him and Emma work. Her mind and mouth never stop, and his obvious ability to blend, to listen, would be perfectly matched to her. And that's where it stops making sense. I peek over my shoulder at him, watching him meticulously snip, and I just can't see it.

I realize that I don't really know him. The bits and pieces I have are mostly through my sister, who has been known to be a faulty source. But my mind can't press the two parts together. I can't picture him at the clubs and bars Emma loves. Can't see him giving in to her persistent nagging, or humoring her flaring lack of confidence.

It just doesn't fit.

Jessica enters the shop and immediately gravitates towards him. She hovers over him as he works, asking questions and giggling more than I thought was possible. He takes it in stride, answering and smiling and winning her over. This part is easy to see, to understand. I get why anyone would be drawn to him. He's magnetic, surprisingly charming.

Slowly, I ease Jessica off of Edward and focus her on her first solo day in the shop. The florist orders are done. She just has to mind the storefront. Even as Edward nudges me out the door, I'm nervous.

"Your sister was right about you," he chuckles, as we begin the walk to the record store. I whip my head in his direction, instantly feeling defensive.

"Excuse me?" I quip. He chuckles again and shakes his head. He swerves slightly to bump his shoulder into mine.

"You're a workaholic," he states. My nerves ease with that revelation. There were many worse things he could have heard from Emma. I shrug my answer. The shop is my life. Well the shop and my family. How could I not be a workaholic?

"I didn't mean it in a bad way. I can just see you in every part of the shop. It's kind of incredible actually. To be that invested in something," he sighs. There's a tone ofwistfulness in his voice that tugs at me. I slow my steps hoping he'll match my pace, and he does.

I swallow and prep myself for what I'm about to do. Opening myself up to him can only end badly, but I can't help it, he's pulling it out of me.

"You just have to do something you love. Then, you can't help but put your fingerprints all over it," I supply. He glances over at me and nods. His feet shuffle, and I can tell he's holding back, ready to bubble over.

"What if you choose wrong?" he asks. My feet stop without thought. That question, those words. They can be twisted in so many different ways.

"It's never too late to change. That's the best part of life. You can always start over," I insist. And I believe it. Change is something I need to have faith in. My life can't always follow this slow rhythm. He nods, and we continue our walk in silence.

I want to reach out to him, touch him, comfort him, but then I remember Em. My little sister and the way her voices gets higher when she talks about him, a sure sign that she's excited. I think about her hopeful expression under my comforter this morning, and I fist my hands.

We reach the store and I feel the familiar giddiness build inside of me. I quicken my pace and rush towards the door. When I get there, I hold it open and motion for Edward to hurry. His eyes light up a little.

"It's not going to disappear," he teases, as he eases past me. I swat at his arm, my excitement making me forget my 'no touch' rule. The cashier grins at me and I wave back. There's no shame in the fact that they know me by name.

My fingers run across the spines of the records and I settle in at the new arrivals. My mind absorbed in the possibilities. I forget about the inner battle I'm waging, forget about my little sister and her continued perfection, and I even forget about the man who I brought here with me.

I pull a few titles and make my way to the listening booth. I gently pull the record from its case and ease it onto the turntable. As I pull the headphones over my ears, the door to the booth slides back open and I look up to see Edward squeezing in next to me.

My mouth gapes open, my mind just now remembering that he's been here all along. He nudges me towards the wall and sits down next to me. He smiles and reaches for the second pair of headphones I've never noticed before this moment.

The music is momentarily forgotten as I watch him close his eyes and bob his head. This close to him, it's impossible to ignore all the details I've been avoiding. All those flaws come rushing back from the impromptu sleepover. I can smell him. The subtle soap he used this morning, the slight twinge of his laundry detergent.

I tear my eyes away and focus them on the floor. I take deep breaths, hoping to banish those thoughts, but it brings him even closer. With my eyes closed, I can feel him. All warm and solid pressed against my side.

The song changes and I reach for the volume dial, anxious for an escape. The next song is slow, melodious, and almost sad. It twirls around in my mind and reaches down to my toes, drawing me in. It almost pulls me away, until his head leans against mine.

I freeze. The side of his forehead is pressed to mine, like he's hoping to hear my thoughts. And I can't move. I know I should move. That I should get the hell out of this booth and forget every sensation singing through my body, but I want this.

This moment is all I'm going to allow myself. Something for me to pull from my memory on especially gloomy nights. For a moment, I pretend he's not my little sister's boyfriend, but just a man. A man I met at a coffee shop, or at the Laundromat. And then maybe we went to a book reading or a foreign film. And now, in my imagination, this moment is the first time we've been this close. This moment is the turning point. Guiding us from casual friends to more.

I savor the sensation, the impossibility, and then I banish it from my mind. I reach forward to pull the record off, and push my way past him. My forehead is cold in the spot where we were connected, instantly missing the contact. He stumbles after me, making too much noise to surprise me this time.

I lean against a table as he approaches. He stands in front of me, his fists curling and uncurling.

"How do you feel about rap? Like loud, cheesy, somewhat vulgar rap?" I spit out. He teeters back on his heels as the question hits him. His face creases and he hisses out a slow breath I swear I can feel fan against my face.

"Not really a fan," he replies. I nod, my body tightening.

"And squealing girls nights? At overpriced bars with overdressed pompous idiots?" I keep going. I know what I'm doing, and yet I can't stop.

"I can think of other places I'd rather be," he sighs. I wonder if he knows where this is going, what I'm really asking him.

"And fashion? The latest trends, being dressed better than the guy sitting next to you?" I press. His head drops, hanging.

"I don't give a shit about any of that," he admits. My breathing has sped up, my heart racing against my chest. I keep my next question to myself. The question I really want to ask, want to know the answer to. _Why is he with her?_

Silence covers us and I wait for my breathing to slow, my mind to calm. And then I leave. I don't turn to make sure he's following. It's not until he slams the passenger car door that I even sense him again.

The quiet continues on the drive home, and as we enter the house and Emma and Renee's voices and energy overwhelm me, I'm relieved. I trudge up the stairs back to my hideout.

The rest of their visit is a blur. I spend most of my time at the store, even though I don't have to. I avoid everything to do with him. And when I hug my sister goodbye, I don't even meet his eyes.

It's the only way I can deal with this, the only way I can feel some kind of control in this situation. I can't dream about the what ifs. Can't dwell on the alternate universe in which I met him first. So, I ignore, I deny, I pine.

***

**as always i want nothing more than to know what you all think.....**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N- again, the fantasticness of your reviews leaves me a little speechless. i'm so glad so many of you are relating to bella and liking this little story of mine. i will continue to gladly accept all reviews like welcome house guests.**

**sah continues to keep balance my insanity and correct my grammar. couldn't do this without her.**

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You can trick yourself into believing just about anything. Like if I stay busy enough, distract myself enough, I can pretend that my work is the reason whyI don't have a social life. The truth is harder to swallow. I'm tired. I have a few fast friends, who love and tolerate me as is, and I just don't have the motivation to gather any more.

Which brings me here, in a crowded bar, pressed against people I don't know, with the exception of one, because I'm not going to get lost in the shuffle. This is supposed to be a high point in my life,and I'm going to start act liking it.

A body bumps into mine, shoving me and a little of my drink into Lindsay. She laughs and I join in.

"See? This is what you needed," Lindsay all but yells at me. I smile and nod. The music pulses throughme, and I feel more alive than I have in a long time. Since an afternoon in a listening booth.

Lindsay arches her back and grins at a passing group of guys whileI snort into my cup. This is the most entertaining part of being out with Lindsay, watching her peacock. She holds her pose until the guys are out of sight and then flashes me a goofy grin.

"You really are pulling out all the stops tonight, aren't you?' I tease. She strikes the pose again, exaggerated, almost comical and I laugh again. I envy her mix of sex and humor.

"I can't help it if I like to be appreciated," she grins. I hold her gaze and mimic her pose, puckering my lips and opening my eyes too wide. She laughs so hard a little of her drink comes out of her nose and I relax my shoulders, satisfied with my work. Another body bumps into mine, and I glance over my shoulder to meet dark eyes.

I duck my head as our eyes meet. I risk another glance and smile when I find him still looking. He blushes and it's all I can do to not laugh. I watch as his Adam's apple bobs over and over, waiting for him to break the silence. When he remains mute I turn back to Lindsay.

She raises her eyebrows in question and I shrug. I lean forward, ready to attempt another yelling conversation, when a warm hand grips my shoulder. My whole body tenses slightly before I turn a littleto see the blusher behind me. I chuckle to myself and offer him a wide smile, which brings back the blush.

I take him in as he fumbles with his words. He's what Emma would call teddy bear cute. Probably an ex-football player, wide in the shoulders, but a wide grin with dimples.

"Can I buy you a refill?" he finally asks. I grin and nod. My motto is, everyone gets one chance. It's only fair really.

"It's a gin and tonic," I holler at him. He nods and leans over the bar, trying to get the bartenders' attention. He's failing miserably. I reach out to take hold of his forearm and pull him back from the top of the bar.

"We'll call it a rain check until he comes back," I offer. Another dimpled smile. I tip back on my heels and wait for him to say something, anything. Bars are possibly the worst place to meet someone. Everything is so magnified by loud music and alcohol.

My drink offers better company and I take a long pull. I'm trying to not compare him to someone else. Someone leaner, less put together. I'm obviously failing.

"I'm Emmett," he finally says. I feel my chest vibrate as I chuckle. At least he finally got that out. Another reassuring smile and I offer him my hand, shaking his quickly.

"Bella," I reciprocate. His head bobs several times and his eyes wander. At this point, I want to thank him for the offer of a drink and go back to watching Lindsay try to seduce half the bar. Instead, I offer another smile. He swallows again.

"You have really interesting eyes," he states. I blink several times. I suppose that's a compliment. He probably should have picked a different adjective. It's not the worst or best attempt I've heard, and he's mostly right.

"Thanks," I reply simply. A few more moments of awkward shuffling and throat clearing and I can't handle it anymore. A familiar classic rock song comes over the speakers and I feel instantly lighter. It buoys me, gives me that push.

"You opposed to dancing Emmett?" I ask. His eyes grow wide and his mouth opens and closes several times without sound. There's no use in waiting for him to find his words. I take his arms and pull him away from the bar. Once we're far enough that you can actually turn in a circle without hitting another person, I spin.

Dancing has never been my thing. One of my worst nightmares featured me trying to be a booty girl in a music video. But when the beat is this irresistible, I just can't pretend not to care.

My twirling slows and I take in Emmett, bobbing his head and shuffling his feet. The laughter comes easily and I place my hands on his shoulder, trying to get more of his enormous form. Gradually, his body loosens, and he moves a little more freely. I resume my twirling, the only dancing I feel comfortable with.

The song changes, and it's also twirl worthy. I continue my lame attempt at dancing, the alcohol and spinning working together to jumble my brain just enough to justify constant laughing. Every once in a while, I stop and help Emmett make more of an ass of himself.

A hand clasps onto my shoulder and when the room slows down, I focus in on Lindsay. I grin at her and she rolls her head to one side, silently asking to leave. I nod my agreement. I've done enough damage here tonight.

"Thanks for the almost drink and the twirls Emmett," I call at him. He nods and shows me the dimples once more. Lindsay takes my hand and guides me out of the warm bar.

The cold night air bites at my skin when we finally emerge. We walk several blocks in silence, bumping into each other every few steps.

"How's Emma?" Lindsay asks finally. I draw in a deep breath. Lindsay is the only friend I've admitted my problem to, knowing that she would give me no nonsense advice. And she did. After spending ten minutes telling me to do something or get over it, I nodded my consent.

"Good, I think," I sigh. I rub my hands up and down my bare arms and focus on the sidewalk in front of me. Walking to the bar suddenly seems like a bad idea, the rolling sidewalks far from welcoming this late at night.

"You have her on shun again? That's not fair B. She doesn't know she's dating your unrequited crush," Lindsay presses teasingly. I groan and shove a hand into my hair, forgetting its up. My rings catches, and I stop in the middle of the sidewalk, my hand lost in my hair. Lindsay walks back towards me, giggling. She begins to untangle my hand.

"I just don't want to hear about how great he is. I mean, if she could carry on like a rational person and talk about work, her friends, anything else…"I try to explain. It's easier if I stick to my plan to ignore certain things. Talking to Emma is like vicariously having a relationship with Edward, in the worst way.

Lindsay clicks her tongue in response and releases my hand from my now destroyed hair. I reach up to slick it all back into a ponytail and keep walking.

"Maybe you should say something to her," Lindsay suggests. I huff and shake my head.

"Yeah, that would be golden. Something like 'Hey Em, could you not talk about your boyfriend so much? Turns out, I have a little thing for him'," I offer. Lindsay laughs and links her arm through mine.

"You never know. It might work," she replies. I roll my eyes. Not going to happen. I can only imagine the ridicule that would come down on me if I made that confession. Emma wouldn't hesitate to tell my mother. I would never live it down.

Like the time Emma read my journal in the fourth grade and discovered my secret love for Travis Smith, which she then announced over dinner the next night. Renee called me Mrs. Smith for months.

"It's fine Linds. I just have to get over it, you know? It's like acknowledging you can't afford a pair of shoes you really want. It's all in my mind," I state.

"And if it's not just in your mind? If you don't get over it?" she asks, playing devil's advocate. And my whole body tenses. _What if?_

"Then I'll just have to put on a brave face and act like I don't care," I answer softly. I've been doing it for this long, I could keep it up.

"You're really not that good of an actress," Lindsay snickers. And the truth stings just a little. The silence wraps us up and walks with us to my door. Lindsay kisses both my cheeks before promising dinner later in the week.

As soon as I unlock my door, my phone rings. I glance at the display and want to just hit ignore, but I press answer to satisfy my nagging conscious.

"Hello?"

"Bella Ella Ella!" Emma sings into the phone. I will never forgive Rihanna for that _Umbrella_ song.

"Hey Em," I sigh. There's a lot of noise in the background and I really wish she wouldn't call me when she's out. I end up feeling like I'm being broadcasted over a loud speaker.

"Are you already home? That's no fun," she presses. I toe my heels off and flex my toes. The hardwood is cold under my feet, but it feels good.

"I just got home. Why don't you call me when you get home?" I suggest. I can barely hear her over the obnoxious laughter in the background.

"No, I haven't talked to you in ages and I'm ignoring Edward anyways. Making him sweat," she informs me. I roll my eyes. I should have timed it. The amount of dialogue we were able to have before he was brought up.

"What did he do?" I ask, playing into her word trap. I really don't want to know.

"He hasn't shaved in a week. Can you believe that? He looks like some kind of cave man. I can't even be seen with him," she rants. I choke on the water I was trying to drink.

"And then he had the nerve to tell me that you told him it would look good. Like you would ever say something like that," she continues. My mind races back to a fleeting conversation. _I may have said something like that._

"I don't mind facial hair Em," I argue lightly. Sometimes it can be really, really attractive. And now, I'm trying to picture Edward with a beard. It's not a bad picture. Emma squeals her disgust and I pull my phone away from my ear.

"I can't believe you told him that. You have to tell him to shave Bella. I can't handle it. It makes my face red whenever we kiss," she whines. My chest clenches with the visual that I really could have done without. Now my imaginary bearded Edward is joined by Emma's tongue, and I want to bleach my brain.

"Yeah, sure Em, the next time I talk to him I'll tell him," I give in. The possibility of that happening is slim, and at least submitting will bring me closer to the end of this line of conversation. There's a shuffle through the phone, and I being to struggle with the button on my jeans.

"Hello?" And I am frozen. That is _not_ Emma. The soft rumble is familiar, and I swallow thickly.

"Hi." I'm sure that sounded fantastic.

"I'm supposed to be listening to you. Is there something you want to tell me?" Edward chuckles. I swallow again, wishing for more water. I am stationary in the middle of my living room, jeans unbuttoned.

"Emma wants you to shave. I don't know how much stock you put into her opinion, but if you value your sanity, I would recommend listening," I stammer. He laughs and I smile. Imaginary Edward has ditched Emma for a moment.

"Thanks for the tip. I thought I could pull it off," he adds, using my words against me. I sigh and lick my dry lips.

"Well, that's what I'm supposed to tell you. But personally, I think you should rock it a little longer," I admit. The other end of the line is oddly quiet. I can't hear the voices that echoed through when I was talking to Emma.

"Good to know. How are you Bella? Listened to any good music lately?" he asks. And in that moment, I am leaning my forehead against his, listening to soft, sad music. This isn't part of the ignore plan. I can't ignore something that's flashing like neon lights in front of my eyes.

"Nothing new," I answer honestly. Old favorites have been occupying my mind.

"No recommendations?" he teases. I know he means well. He wants to get along with his girlfriend's sister. It must be such a foreign concept to him that anyone wouldn't want to be around him, but I just can't.

"Hey Edward, I don't mean to cut off your music request, but I, uh, have to get going. Tell Emma I said bye," I state. My emotions have been reined in, tightly bound.

"Yeah, of course. I didn't mean to keep you. I'll tell her," he agrees. The way he stumbles through his words warm me in a way that should be bound up with the other emotions.

"Bye," I whisper. I hang up before I can hear his response. I allow myself 30 seconds. 30 seconds to let the emotions loose, to feel jilted and wronged. And then I force myself to keep moving. I get ready for bed, my mind in one place, my body in another.

There's a lingering feeling of anger that can't be assigned. It has no home. No one person to attach to. No one is in the wrong. The only person that can be the villain in all this, is me.

When I finally crawl into bed, I curl into myself, looking for comfort. I instantly feel silly. I need to get over this. I force my body to straighten out and refill my empty resolve. I need more nights out. More people like the blusher to fill my mind and time.

And it works. Weeks pass, and I ignore most of my sister's calls. We communicate through voicemails and texts, and I pretend to forget. And then my mother calls and lectures me about family and priorities, and I know Emma has noticed my efforts. I hang my head and offer the correct amount of guilt. And then I call my sister.

"Finally!" she answers. I chuckle, loving that she doesn't mince words.

"Sorry Em, I wasn't trying to avoid you, I've just been so busy," I lie. That's exactly what I was doing. She brushes off my apology and launches into a detailed story about some kind of drama at work. Something involving an unofficial decorating contest between the departments.

I offer the correct amount of feedback and wait. I wait for her to bring up his name, to tell me some sappy story about him that will turn my insides into a hurricane.

"Bella, I hate to rush, but I have a meeting in 10 minutes. Call me later and tell me all about your flowers?" she adds.

"Yeah, of course. Don't be late for your meeting. I'll talk to you soon. Love you," I answer.

"Love you too." And then she's gone. I stare at the phone and realize that he didn't come up. Maybe she is more observant than I give her credit for. It makes me feel silly for avoiding this for so long. Maybe it was all in my mind, in which I was trying to make him a bigger part of our conversations. Maybe this means I'm finally succeeding in my plan.

***

**as always....let me know what you think. and go read Gun Shot Songs by astilbe13, its some kind of fabulous :)**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N- hold on....kind of long a/n here :)**

**has to be said...again....you all are the best reviewers ever. seriously every review is like a thin mint cookie (which is pretty fantastic)**

**unraveled knot has been nominated for an indie away (blushes) voting is going on now. if you get the urge, i would be forever grateful :)**

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**last but not least....sah rocks my socks and keeps my fic looking pretty. love her.**

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**Spring is my absolute favorite season. Everything comes to life after sleeping for months, and you just can't help but feel like anything is possible. I'm determined to make the most of this aura of rebirth around me. To really make changes, to do things to pull myself out of my stagnant state.**

Things are looking up everywhere and I'm cautiously optimistic. The shop is flourishing. We've even taken on a few small weddings. My mother is nagging less than usual, allowing me to tolerate more time in her presence. Emma has been so bogged down by work, that it's the only thing she ever talks about.

I open a box of shipments and feel that familiar thrill I get when unpacking new merchandise. It's the mystery of it all. Not knowing where each item will end up, the stories it will witness. The shop is alive around me, full of flowers and people, and I feel full.

With everything that's going right, it's easy to forget about my small failures. Despite my best efforts, I have not yet been able to erase Edward from my mind. Even with Emma's full, unconscious, cooperation, he still sneaks up on me when I least expect it. It's becoming less frequent, so I guess that's a victory as well.

"Bella, there's another floral order," Jess calls back to me. I look up from the box and accept the slip from her hand. It's vague, and that alone makes me smile. Vague means I get to have more control, I get to create.

Another new feeling emerges, general contentedness. I love my shop, and even though it's not in some exotic locale, even though I didn't have to complete any glamorous internships to get it, it's still what I want to do. It's a good feeling, one that was fostered over many nights of Lindsay verbally badgering me, and even more days of me getting over my ridiculous sibling envy.

I start pulling stems from the fridge and hum as I go. Just before I shove my ear buds in my ears, my phone rings.

"Yes Mama?" I answer. There is no use avoiding this call. She would only call the store, and I generously want to spare Jess.

"I need you to come by later and make sense of this computer," she states. I roll my eyes as I balance the phone between my chin and my shoulder.

"I'm doing well Ma. How are you?" I chuckle. I'm not really put off. It's just the way she is.

"It keeps asking me if I want to upgrade and install, and I have no clue what that all means," she continues. Why my father thought giving her a computer was good idea, I'll never know. She would have been happy to ignore computers all together. And now she's trying to blog, and I only barely talked her out of a Facebook account.

"Just click no. And then ask Dad later," I offer. Even though she's been easier to tolerate, I don't want to make the hour drive each way today.

"Just come over and fix it, ok?" she insists. I sigh and then cut too much stem off my flower. I growl and drop the flowers to the table.

"Not today Mom. Maybe I'll look at it when I come by Sunday," I state. My whole body bristles as I go against my nature, but it needs to happen.

"Oh, alright honey. Sure. I know you're busy," she backs down. The shock of the win stops time for a moment.

"I'll bring by some fresh lilies Mom," I add. It goes against my nature to resist, but I need to to this. And to lessen the guilt, I am not above bribing my mother.

"That would be lovely. Thanks honey," she answers. My body relaxes, and the whole thing imply blows over like it wasn't a turning point. The conversation filters off and I turn on my iPod to lose myself.

The bouquet pieces together to become something light and citrus, and I almost want to keep it for myself. I twist the vase in my hands, taking it in from all angles. Smiling, I stand up from the stool and stretch my arms over my head. I take a few moments before wandering back out to the front of the shop.

The late afternoon sun spreads across the floor and I watch as Jess helps the lone customer. I fiddle with the papers on the desk that really don't need my attention and wait for Jess to wander back to me.

Her shadow darkens the shape in front of me and I smile up at her as I lean against the counter.

"You wanna cut out early Jess? Take the arrangement by the Porters and then head home," I offer. She nods eagerly and begins to shove things into her bag rapidly, like if she doesn't leave now, I'll change my mind. Maybe I've been working her too hard. She is, after all, only in high school.

She slips out the door as I ring up the customer and then I'm left alone. I lean against the counter again and let my mind wander. To do lists sprout up in my mind as I plan the rest of the day, the week.

I almost don't notice the new addition to my store until my view is once again blocked. I shake my head slightly, clearing my head before pasting on a smile. As the shape comes into focus, my words lodge in my throat.

"Hey Bella." He says it so casually, like it would be the most natural thing in the world for him to suddenly appear in my shop. I know my forehead furrows and I watch as his grin falters and he chews on his bottom lip a little.

"Edward," I finally manage. He meets my gaze again and I don't even know where to begin. He should be in Chicago, with Emma. Hitting up a happy hour, or doing something equally mundane.

"What are you doing here?" I blurt. It can't be avoided. No normal interaction can happen until that question is resolved. Not that any interaction between us could ever be described as simply normal. One side of his mouth raises and he meets my gaze.

"I was in town. Post grad interviews and I thought I would stop in and say hello," he explains. That sounds so simple, so normal, so, _rational_. And for some reason, I'm disappointed. Unknowingly wanting something more telling. I take a shuddering breath and force a smile.

"Oh, well, that's nice of you. I'm sure there are better things to see in Seattle than my shop. And you've seen it before," I reply. My hands search for something to do, something to distract me from this situation. A paper clip falls victim. I begin to straighten it out nervously.

"Well, it was less about the shop and more about you. I don't know anyone else in the city," he smiles. I nod absent mindedly, my mind working overtime to make all his words unappealing and vague. I refuse to read anything into this.

"Of course, I mean, yeah. How long are you here?" I ask. My eyes stay on the paper clip in my hands. And then, a hand reaches out and swipes my distraction. My mouth falls open and my hands reach for their stolen treasure.

Edward chuckles and flips the paper clip between his fingers a few times. I twine my hands together, not knowing what else to do with them.

"I'm just here til tomorrow. My meeting was this morning, but I couldn't get a late enough flight back to Chicago, and they offered to pay for a hotel," he states. I nod again.

"That's not a bad deal for you. I love hotels. You don't have to pick up after yourself," I add. Another chuckle. I never knew I was this amusing.

"Is that your way of telling me you're a slob?" he asks. I raise an eyebrow and give him the look. The one I give Emma when she asks questions just to irritate me.

"Not answering that. Just because I don't think there's a point in making my bed when I'm going to get right back into it a couple of hours later, doesn't mean I am a slob," I mutter. This time, it's more than chuckles; it's all out laughter. I watch as he throws his head back and just lets loose. His eyes close and I take the moment to look over him when he's not looking back.

His face is not bearded, so Emma must have won that battle, but everything else seems oddly familiar. The soft wear to his jeans, the worn look of the flannel of his shirt. Why does he feel so comfortable, so broken in to me?

"I've never been a huge stickler for bed making. But now, I feel justified in my rebellion," he grins. I manage a half smile. At that moment, a customer comes through the door, and I rush out from behind the counter, anxious for any excuse for space.

Even with the welcomed neediness of the woman shopping, I can still sense him around me. He moves through the shop like he did the first time, looking over every item, like it might speak to him if he finds the right switch.

Eventually, even with my over anxiousness to keep her looking, the customer leaves and I'm left alone with him again. He wastes no time, placing himself back into my line of sight. He holds out his hand and I see the paper clip, now twisted into some kind of rudimentary music note.

Eventually I stare long enough that he simply transfers it to my hand. The metal is warm from his skin.

"I was hoping you'd spare me the taboo of eating alone and go to dinner with me?" he asks. His words are rushed and his hands are shoved deep in his pockets. Looks like my unease is contagious. Fantastic.

"Yeah, of course. I mean, I wouldn't make you eat alone," I agree. The grin is back.

"Do you know anywhere good? I was thinking seafood, since we're so close to the water and all," he chatters on. I try to fight his enthusiasm, but it's contagious. It's sending little tingles of excitement up and down my arms.

"There's a place not far from here that's not too cheesy. If you give me a couple of hours and meet me back here?" I suggest. I need some space from all his eagerness and smiles.

"Yeah. I should change and check in to the hotel. So like 6?" he confirms. I nod and he's out the door. It takes a little while to come back to center.

The shop is murky in the disappearing light and I close slowly, taking my time doing menial chores, trying to make sense of my conflicted emotions. Any lingering thought that I was moving past my fascination is now crushed. I feel at once that I'm back at square one.

Back to the moment I pulled up the curb and saw the man my sister was dating for the first time. Back to the moment where he humored my Twilight Zone tradition. _This is bad_. The plan is rapidly failing.

Panic drives my hand as I pull out my phone and dial. It's not til after I hang up that I even think about what I just did. An impulsive move at best, but I can't trust myself alone with him, I need a buffer, a safety net.

I shuffle my feet as I stand outside the store. If I had his number, I would have canceled by now. The slight bite in the air forces my hands into the pockets of my jacket.

"Sorry I'm late. I made the mistake of walking here and got completely lost," Edward chuckles, as he steps into my view. I smile tightly and turn towards the restaurant. He falls into step beside me easily.

"So, I have to admit I'm going to be a pretty tough customer tonight. I'm fully expecting to be wowed by this place," he offers. I glance up at him and try to read his face. There is nothing but ease there, his cheeks tinged pink by the cold.

"Don't get too excited. I'm not a foodie by any means. But, the fish is fresh, and there aren't any nets or oars hanging from the ceiling," I answer. He laughs and I pick up my pace. This is why I had to make that call. His laugh makes me feel, too much.

I make a swift turn into the small restaurant and pull my coat off. The hostess smiles as I ease past, looking for the familiar face. I twist back to Edward, fighting the urge to take his hand, and motion for him to follow.

Lindsay holds up her hand and I smile as I ease into the chair next to her. She smiles back at me before looking up to take Edward in. It's a low move, adding someone who he doesn't know, but I need her and her cold water approach that will keep me in line.

"Edward, this is my friend Lindsay. She loves this place, so I asked her along," I offer. The lie is easy. Lindsay hates all things from the ocean. Edward's hand appears in front of me as he reaches across to take Lindsay's. They shake briefly and I nudge Lindsay under the table to help her knock that look off her face.

"Of course. Nice to meet you. I'm always looking to add to the people I know in Seattle," Edward says. Lindsay smirks at me.

"My pleasure," she answers. I roll my eyes. Why did I think this would be a good idea? Edward settles into his chair, draping his coat over the back. The two of them start into conversation, talking about cities they have traveled to, and I just watch.

"What about you Bella? Where do you want to go if you could go anywhere?" Edward asks. I take a quick gulp of wine and chew on my lip a little. Where don't I want to go? There's a list on my fridge dedicated to just that question.

"Everywhere," I breathe. My face flushes with my answer. I should have just said Paris, or Rome, or something equally as generic. My eyes met Edward and he smiles. It's a different smile than any I've seen before, warm and genuine.

"Have you decided?" the waitress interrupts. And in that moment, she has ensured herself a fantastic tip. I rattle off the daily special while Lindsay asks for the chicken. Silence falls over the table and I glance over at Edward who is all but glaring at his menu.

"We can have her come back if you're not ready," I offer. My hand reaches out to touch his arm, but I pull it back before I make contact. If it were anyone else, I wouldn't fight the urge.

"You're getting the special?" he asks. I nod.

"I'll have that too," he decides. He passes off his menu.

"Now the pressure is really on," he teases. I smile slightly and shift in my seat.

"So, you're a law student?" Lindsay breaks in. This is why I brought her. Edward launches off talking about his time in law school and his upcoming bar exams. All his words are flourished by the huge movements of his hands and exaggerated expressions. I'm completely enthralled.

Lindsay takes over my role as conversationalist and I nurse my glass of wine. _Regret_. It's coating my insides, souring my food. I've ruined this. What could have been a pleasant night with a friend, even if he is my sister's boyfriend, totally flummoxed by my overactive mind.

I sink lower in my seat and fight the urge to mope.

"Well, I've got to get going," Lindsay announces. She stands and begins to pull her coat on. She tries to drop money, but I wave her off. I made her come here. And then she's gone.

"She's entertaining," Edward offers. I smile and swirl my wine.

"Yeah, she's one of those people who says what's on her mind," I agree. I straighten out, determined to salvage at least part of his perception of me.

"And now you're left alone with me. You sure you can handle it?" he asks. I swallow. Of course he would realize what Lindsay's purpose was. I'm being silly. He's just a man. Like the one I twirled with on the dance floor not long ago.

"I'm hoping so. I'm choosing to be optimistic," I smile. He chuckles. His eyes flicker from his wine glass to me several times and I refuse to be undone by the action.I take another sip of wine. The alcohol has settled my raging mind. Warming my face and loosening the words in my mouth.

"I've been thinking about making you a Seattle CD," I say, the words traveling straight from my mind to my mouth, without filter or thought. His eyes light up and he eases his chair ever so slightly closer to mine.

"Yeah? You going to try to sway my job decision? Did Huntington and Fine put you up to this?" he asks. He casts his eyes around the room, looking for my cohorts mockingly. I feel my mouth form an open smile as I watch.

"If the all out incredibleness that is my mix-CD-making skills sells you on Seattle, I can't be held accountable for that. But I may be getting a small commission," I shrug. The waitress appears again and this time I don't welcome the reprieve she creates. I sneak a glance at Edward through her arms as she tops off both of our glasses.

"So, you think I should move here?" he asks after she's wandered off again. I swallow thickly and dart my tongue out to taste my lips briefly. Even if I have resolved myself to being a better host, that doesn't mean he needs to know all my motives, all my secrets.

"I think you should move wherever it feels right," I correct him. He lets my words flow over him, washing them down with a long gulp of wine. The air around us dampens with the severity of the decision he is facing.

"But if knowing the music that has risen from this great city lures you in, no one would blame you," I add quickly, teasingly. His eyes meet mine and a small amount of the glimmer has returned. It wasn't that long ago I was in his position. Granted with a far less prestigious degree, but the choice felt no less daunting.

I want to reach out to him, to tell him that all that really matters is that he's happy. But I bite my tongue. Being a year older than him hardly makes me qualified to offer advice.

"Where are you interviewing?" I ask, my curiosity getting the best of me. The urge to know what Seattle is competing against is overwhelming.

"A couple of firms in Chicago, one in New York, and one here," he lists off methodically. His fingers move around the table, picking at scrap paper from the wrappers of straws.

"Well, I admit that New York is pretty stiff competition for music. But, Seattle is by far the winner," I state. I smile at him, hoping he will sense my humor. He smiles back weakly and fixes his eyes on mine.

I don't know how long we sit like that, our eyes burning into each other, before I tear mine away. I take a deep, rasping breath and reach for the bill. Much longer and I'm worried he may have seen all my secrets, all my flaws, all of me.

My eyes are my give away. It's why I hide them when I lie. The last thing I need is for him to know the real reason I want him here.

I shove a couple of bills into the folder and stand.

"It's getting late. We should probably go," I sigh. I keep my eyes down as I pull my jacket back on and head towards the door. His body heat follows me as I weave my way through the tiny space. At one point, I swear his hand brushes the small of my back.

We step out into the fresh air and I pull my coat tighter around me. Edward steps out beside me and looks up immediately.

"At least the sky is clearer here. More stars," he all but whispers. My eyes rise to take in the view. We stand there for a moment, our eyes lifted upwards before a distant car horn breaks into our reverie.

"Well, you can probably get a cab pretty easily from here," I offer. His eyes meet mine again and I can't help the hiss of breath I expel.

"I can get a cab just as easily from your place. There is no way I'm going to let you walk home alone," he insists. My heart jumps and I immediately scold it. This is a gentleman talking. Emma will grill him about our time together, and if he let me walk home alone, it would mean a verbal lashing from her.

"I'm a big girl Edward. I think I can walk a couple of blocks home," I argue. He rolls his eyes and this time there is no doubting the hand on the small of my back. My body reacts instinctively, pressing my back into his hand, eager for the touch.

We walk for a moment in silence. His hand stays in place, and I make no effort to end the gesture.

"My mom bought me a DVD set of the Twilight Zone for Christmas. It's not the same though. Being able to watch them whenever I want takes away a little of the thrill," he says. I glance over at him briefly and nod my agreement. His comment takes me back to that night, and I linger in that memory briefly before dragging myself back to the present.

"There's something about watching them in the middle of the night that makes it so much more authentic," I agree. Our pace slows as we reach the shop again. He's waiting for me to tell him where to go. This is where his reference of my life ends.

"I'm just around the corner from here. And you're way more likely to catch a cab on the main street," I inform him. My hands waves towards my building and his eyes follow the movement.

"You'll really make me a CD?" he asks. I chuckle. I already have it half created in my mind.

"Of course I will. Someone has to rally for Seattle," I smile. He grins back at me, his hand finally sliding off my back. He looks down at his feet for a moment and then lifts his hand slowly. I watch the movement as he pulls my hand from my coat pocket and wraps his own hand around it.

I'm transfixed by the sight. His hand so securely around my own, the mixing of flesh.

"There are other reasons why I wanted to interview here," he offers. I can't take my eyes off our hands. His thumb tracing patterns on my skin. My stomach begins to knot and grow heavy.

"The coffee?" I guess. He chuckles.

"Bella, I…" he sighs. And then the guilt breaks through, overrunning the dam of sensation. I tug my hand from his and shove it back deep within my pocket.

"Don't," I command him. My pulse is racing, and my breathing is erratic. My heart and mind chanting the same thing, over and over. _Emma, Emma, Emma_.

As much as I want him to take my hand, as much as I've hoped he would be the one to look at me differently, I love my sister more. Decades of shared secrets and pain flood my memory, temporarily overwhelming any feeling I could ever think to have for Edward.

I glance up at him to see his face twisted in frustration, the words I halted, still pressing at the back of his teeth. I can't know what those words would bring. I won't let him say them out loud, no matter how innocent they may be.

"Thank you so much for coming by to see me. And I hope all your interviews go well," I force out. I attempt a smile, but know it's a hopeless effort. He looks at me again, his eyes asking a question I can't quite read.

He finally takes a full step back from me and nods resignedly. His hands disappear into his pockets and we simply stand for a while. My body calms, now that I have a little room. My mind finally believing that I am going to do the right thing.

"Thanks for sparing me a solo dinner. It was great, not cheesy at all," he answers flatly. A couple of deep breaths later, and I feel my resolve rising. I take a step forward and lift myself up on my toes. My lips meet his cheek for the briefest of moments. It's chaste, innocent, less even than a European greeting.

"Have a safe trip home," I say and then turn away. I don't look back to see if he catches a cab, don't meet his eyes to read what he thought of my goodbye. My steps are quick and I don't stop until I am braced against the counter of my bathroom.

My eyes rise to meet my reflection and I see the turmoil there. I allow a moment of grief. I mourn for something that was never mine, something that will never be. And then I lock it all away again.

I feel the thankless glow of knowing that I have done the right thing. Once again, I call forward every fond and endearing memory of the one person who has truly been witness to my life.

Summer days making mud pies and first driving lessons are used to lessen the blow. He is wonderful. I can't deny that. He brings something to life in me that I've never known existed, but she is my sister. She shares my blood, guards my most damning secrets.

There is a possibility, no matter how fleeting, that I could find another to awaken those feelings in me again, but I could never replace her. There will never be another so important to me in the same way as she is.

I draw a bath and sink into the water, hoping to wash away the regret. In another world, another lifetime, he could have played a part in my life. Maybe I'll live that life in stolen moments, or in fitful dreams.

He was never mine to give up.

***

**A/N- soooo? **


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N- in honor of the FANTASTIC fandom love day going on, you all get this early :) your reviews have been phenomenal, i'm so glad so many of you relate to this story. warms my little heart.**

**this story was chosen to be featured on a blog (squeals) check it out :)**

**http://www(dot)whynotrpattz(dot)com/2010/02/fickalicious-week-in-fan-fiction-and(dot)html  
**

**sah makes this possible in full error free form. she's the peanut butter to my jelly :)**

***

Guilt is a tiring emotion. My whole body feels weighed down, worn out. I take the turns leading to my parent's house slowly, hoping to calm my mind with the drive. It's been a long time since I've willingly spent an entire weekend with my parents, but I need this. I can't be left alone with my thoughts. Any distraction is a welcomed distraction from the memories of that night.

I know I stopped him. Stopped him from saying something that could have made this more than a minor indiscretion. But then again, maybe he just wanted to thank me. The possibilities and implications drown out all other thought.

The outline of my childhood home appears around the last curb, and my whole body relaxes slightly. I probably should have called, should have told them I was coming, but it wasn't planned. After work, I came home and just hit my breaking point. Every part of my empty apartment was taunting me with its mocking emptiness. So I shoved some sweats in a bag and left.

I switch off my car and lean my forehead down against the steering wheel for just a moment. Before I go in, I have to build up a small defense system. The last thing I need is to see my mother and spill the details of my poorly chosen crush. If I can even call him a crush.

I force myself out of the car before my thoughts can plague me any further. The silhouette of the house hangs over me and I already feel better.

"Momma?" I call out. I wait for her usual response, but am met with the sound of distant voices and laughter. I drop my bag to the floor and start towards the noise. As I turn the corner into the kitchen, I stop in my tracks.

"Look who it is," my mother says cheerily. I smile stiffly, not able to take my eyes off the other person at the table.

"I didn't know you were coming home," I state. Blunt I know, but this wasn't what I hoped for when I thought about a quiet weekend at home.

"Maybe if you answered your phone or called me back, I could have told you," Emma quips. My mother's eyes dart between us, fighting off the urge to intervene. Suddenly, I crave the solitude of my apartment, away from the obvious reminder of my overindulgence.

"The shop has been insane. I left you a couple of messages, texted you," I offer. Emma's eyes are unrelenting. I can feel them burning into my skin. Her face is cold, firm. For a moment, I panic. _Maybe she knows_. And then her face breaks into a smile and I almost collapse from relief.

"No excuse. Work has been hell and I needed one of your mix CDs, or at least your lame attempts at distracting me," she explains heavily. And now it's a different guilt plaguing me. Of course I should have answered. That's what we do for each other, we vent, we complain and then we feel better. I slump into the chair next to her and lean my head on her shoulder.

This is why it would always be her, why I couldn't risk her even for him. She's my constant and I'm her rock.

"I'm sorry Em. Promise it won't happen again," I sigh. She shifts her body to make it a better headrest.

"It better not," she replies. Two mugs appear in front of us and I smile up at my mother. Maybe this is what I needed, a solid reminder that I made the right choice. It doesn't make my heart ache any less, but it feeds the nagging question of 'what if'. There was no other choice.

"Tell me all about work then," I instruct. I'm anxious for the distraction and for the chance of redemption. My fingers play with the handle of the mug as she talks about her overzealous boss and a conniving co-worker. It's easy work playing the role she wants me to. I gasp at the appropriate places, make nasty comments about the villains, and laugh when she attempts a joke.

The room darkens with the fallen sun and we move to the living room, curling up on opposite ends of the couch. The work chat teeters off and I start steeling myself for what I know is next. His name is bound to come up. It's only a matter of time.

But, it doesn't. She rambles on about the usual crowd, parties and bars, but never him. I begin to read into all her words, trying to place him in a pronoun, but can't even do that. The curiosity begins to bite at me, pushing for more information.

Emma pauses to take a long sip of her drink and I swallow, trying to coat my dry throat.

"What about Edward?" I ask. The words sound out of place, odd even to my ears. Emma pauses mid drink and takes me in. Her motions are slow as she puts the mug back and rearranges herself across from me. My whole body is quivering in anticipation of her answer. I shouldn't be doing this to myself, but I'm glutton for punishment.

"What about him?" she answers. I almost groan out loud at her attempt at naivety. Everything about the way she is looking at me screams that she knows more than I want her to. The guilt bubbles up again. Maybe he did tell her. Maybe it was all innocent, and they had a laugh about my insane idea that he could have wanted to say more.

I quickly shake that thought from my head. The reality of Edward and Emma doesn't allow for such a scene. Neither of them are cruel. I know that at the very least.

"You haven't mentioned him all night," I point out. All I want is for her to slip him into one of the stories, confirm what I already know. I keep my eyes down, picking at the seam of the couch as I wait. My attempt at feigning disinterest won't throw her off, but I can't back away from the questions now.

"Well, he wasn't in any of those stories," she states simply. I resist the urge to whine and roll my eyes. Why must she do this to me? I glare at her slightly. This is a common game for us. When she knows I want something, but don't want to say it. She enjoys forcing it out of me. Evil.

"Because….." I press. She grins at me, knowing she has me right where she wants me. Why can't she just say it? I don't want a play by play of their time together. I just want his name dropped casually once in a while. Like I can keep track of him that way. She sighs and wets her lips. I lean forward in anticipation.

"Bella baby, can you look at my laptop now? It's still giving me trouble," my mother interjects. A smug look crosses Emma's face and I know she's won. I should have never shown my interest. She'll hold this over me as long as she can.

"Sure mom," I sigh. There's no point in saying no. Emma's clammed up and my mother will drop not-so-subtle hints until I comply. I wind my way back towards her small office and settle into her desk chair.

My mind is full of Edward. Every moment I had stored away rushes forward and plays over and again in my mind like a never ending loop. I absent-mindedly fiddle with the laptop, not being able to concentrate.

"Did you fix it?" My mother's voice breaks through my turmoil and I click a window closed. Her problem was simply her computer trying to do a simple software update.

"Mom, when it asks to update, just click yes. I promise your computer won't explode," I tell her. She peers at the screen like it's an enemy. I can't hold back the laugh. It feels good, breaking up some of the shit clogging my mind. I move from the seat and push my mother down into it.

"Shelly told me that pop ups can give my computer a bacteria that leads to porn," she states simply.I laugh again. Just the thought of my mother having anything to do with porn has to be funny. The alternative is it being nauseating, and I want to avoid thinking aboutthat.

I lead her through updating her computer and then watch as she pulls up her blog. The roll of my eyes is involuntary. All her friends' _blogs_. They have lunch once a week to talk about their _blogs_. It's ridiculous.

I watch her page load and my eyes scan over the last few posts. It's only natural to begin counting the number of times Emma's name is listed. There's even a picture of her in her winning cubicle. Apparently, she won the decorating contest.

She scrolls down a little further and I feel my breath sucked from me. I watch as a post about my shop comes up, complete with pictures from the first wedding we did.

"I didn't know you had pictures from the Calvin wedding," I breathe. My mother grins at me over her shoulder.

"Well, I had to bribe the photographer with brownies, but it was worth it. Verna was thinking about using you for her anniversary party," she says. My eyes are misting. I wipe at them quickly.

"You think you could send them to me?" I ask. I should put them on the shop's website. Thinking about the shop keeps me from thinking about the fact that my mom actually traded brownies for pictures of my arrangements.

"Of course. Personally, I think he could have done a better job, but if you want them," she answers nonchalantly. I wrap my arms around her from behind and she stiffens slightly in my hold. Then she reaches out and pats my arm softly. I've never been one for a ton of affection, but I can't let this moment pass without showing her how I feel.

I pull away slowly and leave her to her blogging. I make my way back to the living room, but Emma is gone. I fall onto the vacant couch and throw my arm over my face. My brain is overloaded and I just want to vacate my mind for a bit. Several deep breaths later and I feel at one with the couch.

My mind slows and unfortunately settles on the last time I was laying on this couch. The memory is clear, and I can't help but turn my face into the cushion, curious to see if any of his smell lingers there. It doesn't.

Sleep starts to take me and I give in willingly. Just as I'm losing conscious thought, the couch dips and a weight settles on my legs. I groan.

"Why do you insist on sitting on the only occupied piece of furniture in the room?" I whine. She laughs and squirms on my legs. I pry my eyes open and give her the stink eye.

"Why when you so obviously want to share?" she teases. I squirm out from under her and curl back into the far end of the couch. She stretches out and plops her feet into my lap. I lean on my hand and my eyes flutter, wanting nothing more than to close again. How is it that I never realize how tired I am until I actually sit down?

"You seem awfully interested in Edward," she starts. I squeeze my eyes shut and try to ignore her. Maybe it will all go away. This is what I get for being curious.

"I was just being polite. You seemed like you wanted us to get along, so I was making an effort," I lie. It actually sounds plausible. Way better than my usual efforts. Silence fills the space between us and I revel in it.

"He wasn't in any of the stories because he wasn't there," Emma sighs. I open my eyes and stare. Her face is tilted down, taking interest in the floor and her socked feet. My heart slams against my chest and I feel my breathing increase. I will her silently to continue, but she doesn't get the message.

"I know he's been traveling a lot with his interviews," I offer. It's a logical conclusion. He can't be with her if he's traveling. That, coupled with her work, maybe they've just been busy. Emma's eyes rise and meet mine, confusion written all over her features.

"How do you know that?" she asks. And I just now realize my slip up. _He didn't tell her_. My mind can't even start to comprehend what that means.

"I saw him. When he came here. We went to dinner, with Lindsay," I stammer, hoping the addition of Lindsay to the situation doesn't make it a crime. Emma continues to just stare at me. The nerves and guilt are back, making my fingers twitch and my lips chap.

"Oh yeah? Well you've seen him more recently than I have then," Emma says. And time stops for just a moment. This doesn't make sense, doesn't fit.

"What?" The word slips out before I can stop it. It's all I have, all I can supply. Emma sighs heavily and turns to face me.

"B, Edward and I broke up in February. Probably should have broken up before that," she states. My mouth falls open. It falls open and hangs open and I can't close it.

"What do you mean? You told me he was amazing, that you really liked him," I choke out the words. He came here, he came to my store, and not because I was Emma's sister. They were already done then. Done for weeks. I can't even place the emotion blanketing me.

Emma lets her head rest against the couch. She looks tired. Why didn't I notice before? I was so busy avoiding my own demons, placating her that I didn't even really look.

"He was, _is_ amazing. And I did like him, but it was always too comfortable. Never any spark or, God, I don't know," she groans. Her pauses are killing me. I scoot closer and place my hand on her arm.

"It just wasn't working. It was easier to spend time apart. And then I went a week without seeing him and didn't even notice. I figured that said something," she continues. I feel a spark of hope and then just as quickly its put out. I take in my sister's weary features and my hope is washed away. If she has any type of feelings for him…

"So, we went out separate ways. I felt like such a shit Bella. I mean who is actually relieved when they break up with someone like him?" she laughs bitterly. I search her face and try to make sense of it all.

"If you're upset about it, you could always call him, pick things back up." Just saying the words is painful. It's the last thing I want to happen, but she comes first. She had him first. All the rules of dibs apply. Emma smiles, finally.

"That is not the issue. Thinking about Edward, just makes me feel like I wasted time. His time, my time. Andrew's time…" she trails off. I raise an eyebrow. The plot thickens. I've stopped trying to make sense of all this, pushing my emotions down, placating the onslaught by assuring them that I'll let them out later.

"Andrew?" I whisper. Another faint smile appears on her face. She ducks her head, her cheeks turning pink.

"This guy I work with. He's just been fantastic through all the drama. Like, he's just witty and has my back against the wicked witch of the office," she breathes. I smile as she begins to build the picture of Andrew. And it makes sense. He likes fashion just enough, but not enough to be considered at risk of liking men. A knight in shining Armani.

"So, you like this guy?" I smile. More pink in her cheeks. _Wow_. I feel the excitement build, for her.

"He's just incredible and so funny. He's always sending me these emails at work, just to make me smile. I just wish I had figured it out earlier," she says. I mimic her position and settle in to listen. The story isn't fairy tale-esque, but it makes sense. Every part of it matches Emma and her life and what she needs. And it heals part of me I didn't even know was broken.

I study her as she talks. Watching her expressions and the rise and fall of her blush. The jealousy is so different this time. I don't want to know any tiny details about Andrew for my own knowledge, don't itch to replace Emma with myself in her stories. I envy the rush I know she gets when talking about him, the hum of energy I know she's feeling.

I'm jealous because I've felt it and I want to feel it again.

"You jump his bones yet?" I tease. Emma flushes again, but giggles like a teenager. She smacks at me and rolls her eyes.

The tension that had taken up residence in my body melts away slowly. I slump into the couch and take comfort in the sound of my oldest friend's voice and the faint smell of my dad's pipe tobacco.

I'll take one fix at a time. Today, I got my sister back. The wedge I had placed between us is finally moved, for now. A small piece of me is already crying out for a chance. A chance to be with the only person who has ever mirrored me so completely.

But, that piece has to wait. Tonight I have Emma. The possibility of Edward is looming, but not certain. The uncertainty tears at me a little because as much as I want him, I won't lose my sister over it. And that surety comforts and torments me.

***

**i've heard murmurs of an Edward POV.....what do you all think?**


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N- i'm so sorry this has taken me so long to update :( this chapter was a struggle. i only hope you all like it :)**

**once again your reviews are fantastic. i try to reply to each and every one because they mean that much to me.**

**my fabulous beta sah has gone above and beyond this time around. talking me down and setting me straight in addition to her usual spelling/grammar duties. couldn't do this without her. *love***

**the fantastic erica_lopezy has made a playlist for the story. i'm going to post a link in my profile for anyone who is interested. (and you should be its AMAZING)**

*******

Saying and doing are such different realities. It's one thing for me to say that I can mold my feelings for Edward around my sister's preference. To insist internally that now, even though they are no longer together, there is still reason for me to stay away, to resist. But all those triggers that used to bring me a prick of pain, now light a fire of curiosity. I've finally let myself consider the possibilities.

Before, I forced myself to forget all the looks and touches. But now, I'm analyzing all of them. Searching for meaning, for an answer. With Emma back in Chicago, the distance allows me to wonder.

"You're going to do permanent damage to the counter top if you don't stop," Jessica warns. I still my hands and look down at where the tip of my pen has worn through the paper and is now creating meaningless patterns on the wood. I groan and let my head fall forward.

"Take this away from me," I insist, shoving the pen into her hands. She rolls her eyes and pushes it into her back pocket. Jessica hovers around me, waiting for me to send her home, but I need her here. I need the distraction from my thoughts. I don't even want to know what would happen if I were left to my own devices.

Suddenly, I'm picturing Edward's name spelled out in daisies. This has to stop.

"Jess, watch the front of the shop for me?" I ask. I don't wait to see the look of disappointment that I'm sure is written across her face. Maybe I'll send her flowers to make up for it. A chuckle slips out at the thought.

My body slumps into my desk chair and everything slows down for just a moment. Any hopethat things would be better once Emma and Edward broke up is now a foolish memory. If anything, the possibility is worse than the complete impossibility. At least then there was a sure answer. Now, who knows?

Every part of me hums with the need to release this feeling, these pent up emotions. My fingers grasp a pencil like it's the answer. I press it to a blank sheet of computer paper and watch as it fills with ahalf legible scrawl. It's therapeutic, the words coming without thought or force.

My hand slows and I feel lighter. I fight the urge to read over the words. The feelings are still too raw to relive.

"Everything's all locked up, I'm going to go unless you need me….."

My head pops up at the sound of Jessica's voice. I may just be the worst boss of all time. My smile comes more naturally than I thought it would, the release making everything easier.

"Yeah, of course. Why don't you take tomorrow off Jess?" I offer. It's a small penance. She lights up and nods vigorously.

Once she's gone and I'm left alone with my words, the urge to read them creeps up again. My fingers start tracing the paper, feeling for the spots where the pencil pressed hard enough to cause a ripple. And then my eyes follow.

Each word is given its moment. I read it again and again. The feelings well up from the page.

'_Edward,_

_I realize that I should probably start with small talk and ask you questions that I've been taught are polite, but forgive me for skipping all of that._

_I'm not sure what to say, mostly because I'm not sure what you're thinking. There are a few things I know._

_I know that you have fantastic taste in music. I know that you somehow get the incredible irony in the Twilight Zone. I know that when you came to see me, I wanted you to hold my hand._

_I would say I'm sorry for keeping you at arm's length, but I'm not. I had to do it. You were pulling bricks from my wall faster than I could put them back up, and I wasn't ready for that, for you._

_But I wanted to let you. I wanted to watch days of Twilight Zone with you, wanted to hear your opinions on all my favorite songs, wanted to keep you around until you were etched into every part of me._

_This is coming out all wrong. I don't know how to write something like this, how to put these feelings to words. It's either sounding like too much, or not enough._

_But, there was always Emma. And there still is Emma. _

_But in this moment, I don't care. _

_This letter might be late, it might even be unwelcomed, but I had to write it. I couldn't hold all this in anymore. And after finding out, that you're no longer tied to her, I thought maybe…._

_If you still want to share headphones and watch late night TV, I'm in._

_What do you say?_

_Bella'_

The words feel final, even in their imperfection. Before I can overanalyze, or talk myself out of it, I fold the letter into thirds and shove it into an envelope.

There's a rush associated with the letter. It moves through me, giving me energy I didn't know I had. Now that my mind is set, I'm working on the finishing details. I promised him a mix CD.

I flip through my musical library in my head, picking songs that tell him more than just 'we're from Seattle'. Modest Mouse, Sunny Day Real Estate, Band of Horses and The Decembrists make the cut. I even add a little Death Cab For Cutie, for pure sentimental and obvious reasons.

There's momentary bump in my plan and confidence when I realize I have no idea where to send this. A quick call to 411 and I've scribbled his address to the envelope.

It's almost midnight when I stand in front of the mailbox, a manila envelope clutched in my hands. All the doubt that had been held at bay throughout my morning slams into me like a freight truck.

My fingers dig into the thick paper and almost press straight through. The reasons I shouldn't be doing this invade my mind and I gasp for air. The last of my bravery fights through and I quickly shove the package into the box, far from my twitching fingers.

I stand there for a long time, waiting for my battling emotions to declare a victor, but in the end, I feel numb. Emotionally exhausted.

As I trudge back towards my apartment, the emotion winning out is relief. A weight lifted from not being pressed down by guilt or obligation any longer.

And now, all I can do is wait.

_The first week…_

Two events this week. Not sure why anyone would ever willingly use baby's breath.

Mail takes time. Sometimes too long. Maybe I should have used email. Or not have written at all.

_The second week…_

Am actively avoiding all songs and bands on the CD I sent. Even resorted to letting Jessica control the music in the store. Will never be able to listen to Taylor Swift ever again.

What kind of response did I really expect?

This is the answer to the question people are always asking me. Why don't you put yourself out there? Take a risk?

Because it's not in who I am. And now….now I'm wishing I had listened to my common sense.

_The fourth week…_

Why must everyone get married in the spring? Am set on never having a spring wedding. Jessica is in love with every groom.

I guess the answer could have been no. I didn't know that this is what rejection felt like. Kind of like being really hungry and never getting full…

_The sixth week…_

I stare in into the filling bathtub and my muscles call out for the hot water. Business is getting better, being busy is fantastic for keeping my mind off things. And yet, my mind won't leave certain 'things' alone.

This is the breaking point. Now I have to admit that he's not going to respond. Not by mail, or email, or phone, or any other way my overactive imagination can devise. It should serve as a sense of closure. But I can't cut my attachment to it.

Once again, I am taking out my feelings on my sister. It's hard to talk to someone he wanted, even if only briefly, knowing he doesn't want me. My old friend jealousy has taken to whispering in my ear and has convinced me that texting is just as good as answering my phone. Even though I know that's not true.

I sink lower into my bathtub, trying fruitlessly to disappear for just a moment. Maybe the bubbles can shield me from the ache of rejection. Today was the first day in over a month I didn't wait for the mailman to come. That will be considered my first step.

Can't think about the next step. Not quite ready for that.

I linger in the water until it starts to chill. When I step out and pull the drain, I watch the water swirl away and try to make my hopes go with it. But they cling and hold on. I slide into my bed, my robe still on.

I stare at the stark ceiling and wait for it to pass. Like it would be that easy. I start considering methods of erasing him when my phone lights up. The tiny picture shows Emma, her lips pressed into an exaggerated pucker. The little green monster on my shoulder tells me to roll over, but I pick it up, eager for comfort, distraction, anything.

"Hello?" I should have cleared my throat, taken a drink of water, something to help disguise the sadness in my voice.

"What's wrong?" Emma asks immediately. And this is why she holds the place in my heart that she does. Who else can read my mood from a single word, a brief inflection?

The concern in her voice finally summons the tears I was holding back and I instantly feel silly. Who cries over something that never really existed to begin with?

"Nothing," I sniffle. I don't know why I'm denying it.

"Don't give me that. I had the day from hell and I will not pretend that you're not crying. Who do I need to hunt down?" Emma demands. I laugh through a sob.

I'm torn. I want to tell her, want to share this feeling with someone else in the hopes that it will lessen the ache, but I don't know how she will react.

"It's no one's fault. I did something stupid and I thought it would turn out better," I sigh brokenly. Apparently, I've decided to tell her. My body tenses in anticipation, wanting to protect the information, the memories.

"Bella," she warns. I choke on the final resistance.

"I wrote Edward a letter," I blurt. Not really a starting point, but it's what falls from my mouth nonetheless. I pick at the edge of my quilt.

"Why would you do that?" Emma asks. There's no accusation in her voice, no anger, just curiosity.

"You know how you kept telling me how much I would like Edward, how alike we were?" I press. Her words roll through my mind like I summoned them. All the references to our mutual likes, the insistence that we would get along.

"Yeah. You two have freakishly similar taste in odd things," she answers simply. I bristle, looking for her anger, but it's not there. Her words are brisk, like she's waiting for the other shoe to fall. Waiting for me to tell her more.

"Well, you were right," I admit. It's probably too little, doesn't cover the extent of my feelings, the grandeur of my potential betrayal. Emma is quiet for a while.

"Ok. So you're friends? And you wrote him a letter? Why the hell does that have anything to do with you crying B?" she rambles. I wish I could just show her, project my memories up on a wall and let her see it, rather than pulling it out like this. I can hear the panic in her voice. Partly caused by the fact that I'm still blubbering and partly because she doesn't understand what I'm saying.

"We were never really friends. Not that he didn't try to be nice. He was always so nice," I begin. The last thing I want is for him to look bad. None of this is his fault. He wasn't the one with the ties.

"I wrote him a letter because I was hoping that maybe we could be something more than friends. That maybe all those things we had in common were enough to make him look at me differently," I sigh. I want the best of both worlds. I want to keep my sister and help her understand what I felt, what I was feeling.

Emma's breathing is a little more pronounced now, coming through the phone like small gusts of wind. It's the sound of her anger gearing up. The noise her emotion makes when she's trying to hold it in.

"You wanted to be with him. You wrote him to ask if he wanted to be with you," she clarifies slowly. Her words hit me solidly, pushing me back into my bed impossibly further. It's like she's trying to convince herself of the truth of her words rather than me.

"Yeah," I admit. There's no use in mincing words or trying to deny what is so clearly the simple truth. The silence between us stretches on for so long, I have to check my phone to make sure she didn't hang up.

My heart hammers in my chest. If she is angry, hurt, upset, anything, I can't argue with that. This is what I wanted to avoid. But I can't hide it any longer.

"I don't know what to say," she finally breathes. I swallow the lump in my throat, grateful that she's listened this long. I can feel myself losing her, feel her pulling away. The words pulse through me, anxious to make her understand, to explain.

"I didn't do anything, even say anything, while you were together. I swear, I would never even think about doing that to you, but when he was around I just felt….God this is hard to explain," I grasp for the words. "He made me feel like I was the most interesting person he'd ever met, like he genuinely wanted nothing more than to be around me."

My tongue darts out to wet my dry lips. This is why I never brought it up. My words don't feel adequate enough to heal a betrayal. I'm hoping that's not what this is. Her silence is my only answer once again.

This is what I deserve. If she wants to get angry she can, I'll take her anger and ask for more. But, if she could understand, forgive….it's too much to ask.

"So, you really like him," Emma concludes. I nod even though I know she can't see me. The anger has receded from her voice a bit. My fingers clutch at the blanket below me, my knuckles white from the anticipation.

"And you wrote him a letter. And he didn't answer," she finishes. The tears well up again. Hearing it from another person just makes it all the more real.

"Basically," I stammer. Again, the silence. I should have just told her when she was home. This would be so much easier if I could see her face, make her see mine. Even better if we were in our childhood hiding place.

"I understand if you're mad Em. I should have never even let the thought enter my mind. I should have kept it to myself. I'm so sorry. And I won't contact him again, won't try again. I promise," I state firmly. No reason to repeat the same mistake again. I can fix this between us, salvage something from this mess.

She sighs, filling the silence briefly.

"You're right, you should have, but God B. I wish I had known," she says. My whole body goes on alert. These words don't fall under the expected category of anger. I hear defeat and possibly, a small bit of understanding?

"Known what? That I was pining after your boyfriend? That I broke the ultimate sister code?" I ask. Maybe joking will make this go down easier. She laughs, but it's hollow. I take it as a good sign nonetheless.

"That you felt that way about him. The things you said, that's not just a crush Bella. That's, that's something more," she breathes. Hope slips into my mind, I hold it back, scared of what it could mean.

"It didn't matter, doesn't matter. I should have just treated him like all your other boyfriends. It's my fault," I insist. I made my mistake and I will take the penance. She groans and I can hear her frustration.

"The reason I was drawn to Edward was because he reminded me so much of you. It was like having a little piece of you with me, even though you were so far away," she begins. I knew this, at least in a sense. I stay quiet, feeling her impending words coming.

"We talked about you a lot. I would tell him stories about you and your shop and your music and he would always ask for more. It was easy to talk about you, you're my most favorite person," she chuckles lightly, and the sound ushers the hope in even further, offering it a seat.

"He all but asked to come home with me for Christmas. Not that I minded. He was never anything but sweet and caring and fun. Just like you. So I brought him."

There's a pause and I try to process everything she is saying. I can hear her mind working, putting things together, categorizing.

"It wasn't long after that that I realized we really didn't have much to talk about outside of you. And then I started seeing all the things that didn't remind me of you, and I wasn't so attached to those parts."

"He should have written you back Bella," she states firmly. This time, I don't fight the sob. I can't have it all, it's not logical. Why would she let me have him? After what I did?

"No, I should have just left it alone," I stand firm.

"Don't be such a martyr. You could have told me. Especially after I told you about Andrew. Not that I would have thrown you a party, but I know you Bella. And I know that what you fee lwas important," she offers. The tears slide down my cheeks uninterrupted.

"It doesn't matter anymore. I sent him a letter and a mix CD and he just didn't reply. That's a pretty solid no I think," I state. Her blessing, while unexpected, doesn't change the outcome.

"Oh Bella, if you sent him a mix CD and he didn't respond, he's a bigger idiot than I could have ever imagined. Your mix CD's are the stuff legends are made of," she assures me. And I actually smile. At least I came out of this with my sister and best friend in tact. No losses. That has to count for something.

"I don't want to talk about him anymore Em. Tell me about Andrew," I plead. She pauses for a moment and then peppers me with cute stories and antidotes. Their budding, real romance both tugs and appeases me.

She talks until my yawns become so loud she can hear them on the other end of the phone. We hang up, unbroken by my admission, and I choose to see that as a victory. I shouldn't really be surprised. She's my sister, my best friend. Of course she would take my side, hear me out. That's what you do for people you love.

***

**so? let me know....**

**and if anyone is interested in the mix CD bella made edward...i can send you the list....**


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N- you all are spoiling me with the reviews. i've become an addict. they're better than thin mints i swear :)**

**i'll post the link to the playlist for edward's mix cd at the end of the chap if anyone wants to listen. **

**a special thanks to coldplaywhore for continuing to pimp me out 3**

**and as always....sah... my original pimp and #1 editor extraordinaire!**

***

I fiddle with the arrangement in front of me, placing and replacing flowers, trying to find the perfect balance. If I'm honest with myself, I'm just wasting time at this point. I back away from the centerpiece and allow myself to take in the room. The pride that swells up inside of me is a welcomed departure from the vague emptiness I've been toting around lately.

The room almost looks transformed. The familiar, musty country club dining room actually looks fresh, revived.

"It looks amazing hun."

I turn to see my mother behind me. She's already dressed for the party, her hair pinned up. As I take her in I'm reminded why I when I was younger, I thought she was the most beautiful woman I'd ever seen.

"You're way early momma. What are you doing here?" I ask. The smile on my face is automatic. She wraps an arm around me and squeezes me to her side.

"I wanted to see you," she smiles. Again with the swell of pride. I follow her gaze around the room, taking in the calla lilies and hydrangeas. We're doing events more often and I'm liking it more and more. Maybe I'll branch out in this direction.

"Are you going to stay for the party? Shelly would love it if you did. She keeps talking about this nephew of hers," she hints, bumping her shoulder into mine. I stumble slightly and roll my eyes. I'm not quite ready for someone new, which seems silly. It's not like I was ever in a relationship with, him, but I need a little more time. To make sure everything is scabbed over.

"No, I've been here since 9. I just want to go home and relax," I answer. I wait for her to push, to pressure me, but she simply nods and pats me softly on the back.

"Of course. You deserve to rest. You've seemed down lately," she observes. I swallow thickly and shift my eyes away from my mother. I've kept the whole story from my mother. Telling Emma was hard enough, no reason to bring in mama bear.

"I'm just tried, busy. I'll feel better after I get some decent sleep," I assure her. It's time to let this nonsense go. I can't justify acting this way about a man I've never even really touched, much less dated.

And I know that I'm almost to that point. My heart no longer even stutters at the sight of the mail. I don't think twice when my phone rings. It's fading, and I'm relieved. I need to be at that point, but a small part of me is sad to let it go. To admit that it's really never going to happen.

"I've been bragging about you all week. Expect a few more calls, especially after tonight," she states. I don't hesitate to throw my arms around my mother.

"Thanks momma. Have fun tonight. Make dad take you out on the dance floor," I instruct jokingly. My dad's idea of dancing is bobbing his head to a good country song. This skill is one of the many things he has passed on to me.

"You get some rest baby," she says before pressing a kiss on the top of my head. A herd of my mother's friends descend and I back away before I'm sucked into match making hell.

I'm almost to my car when my phone rings. I pull it from my back pocket and answer without hesitation.

"Hello?

"What are you doing right now?" I roll my eyes at Lindsay's greeting. I slip into my car and turn down the music blaring from the speakers.

"I'm going home Lyns. My feet hurt and I want a bath," I say bluntly. Really not in the mood to be dragged out tonight. No matter how good Lindsay thinks it will be for me. She clicks her tongue and I get ready for her response.

"Come on Bella. You haven't been out with me in ages. The only people you see on a regular basis are that girl that works for you and Mr. Lin from Hunan Dynasty," she scolds. I scowl. Even if that is true, how can she bring up my love for chicken lo mien like that? Low blow.

"I know Lyns. It's just been crazy at work. I promise, next week we'll go out. Any where you want," I try to compromise. It's not even a brush off, I actually mean it.

"Fine, night out next week, but what about a drink tonight? Just one," she asks. I roll my eyes and resist the urge to groan. As much as I want to say no, it could be nice. My resolve weakens. It wouldn't be nice to choose my bathtub over an actual person.

"Just one Lyns. Then I have to sleep," I give in. A little stress release can't be a bad idea. She rattles off a favorite bar of ours and I hang up. I turn the volume back up and try to lose myself in the music for a moment.

The drive goes quickly, my mind happily immersed in a fog of Grizzly Bear. I park close to the entrance, not wanting to waste anymore time here than I have to. The bar is mostly bare, thank God. I make my way to where Lindsay is already making eyes at the bartender. Her flirting stamina is incredible.

She winks at me quickly as I slide onto the stool next to her. A drink appears in front of me and I don't hesitate to bring it to my lips. Vodka cranberry, I decide. I take a few long sips before settling in to watch Lindsay at work.

The winking and hand touching continues until I've finished my drink. I'm amazed he's able to give her so much attention and still watch the bar. A new drink appears and before I can argue, Lindsay gives me the eye.

"You sure you want me to stay? You seem…preoccupied," I tease as I take another sip. She lifts an eyebrow at me and grins.

"I thought you were only going to have one drink. Long day my friend?" she asks. I sigh and nod.

"You still checking the mail?" she asks softly. She glances at me out of the corner of her eye and I purse my lips before shaking my head. I'm grateful that's she held back on giving me her full opinion on my blunder. She knows the details, but I've kept a lot of it to myself. Not that she can't read it in my voice.

"Good. Screw him Bella. Seriously," she insists. I smile half-heartedly. I have fucking amazing friends. Between Emma and Lindsay, you would think I would believe them, agree with them even, but I just can't seem to hold him in the wrong.

"I know," I offer. I can't say any more. Lindsay winks at the bartender again and I chuckle. I feel someone lean against the bar behind me and I lean out of his or her way. And then a hand appears on my shoulder. I stiffen at the contact and begin to summon all my best letdowns.

I turn, ready to use one of my sweeter lines when my mouth drops. The blusher. A credit to his name, his cheeks flush pink when our eyes meet. I smile.

"I thought I recognized you," he offers. I smile again. He's sweet and unintimidating, despite his size.

"How are you?" I ask politely. I'd almost forgotten how endearing his lack of words was.

"I'm good. I was actually just leaving, but I wanted to say hi. And I was thinking that maybe I could get your number. And we could run into each other on purpose?" he asks. And there's the blush again. I grin and nod my head. Even if I'm not totally ready, he would be gentle, an easy transition.

"You want me to just put it in your phone?" I ask. He reaches for it and then his face falls, the dimples disappearing.

"I left my phone in the car," he admits. I laugh and lean over the bar, stealing a pen. I pull his hand towards me with a gentle tug.

"We'll do this the junior high way then," I state. I scribble out my number and name. I blow on the ink briefly and then let his hand go. He takes the pen from my hand and then pulls my other hand into his.

"Might as well return the favor," he says. The pen presses into my skin and I watch as the numbers appear on my skin.

"Well, it was good to see you again Emmett," I say, cheating by reading the name on my skin. He grins and I return the gesture.

"I'll call you soon or text you," he says surely, the blush not present. I kind of miss it.

"Sounds good. Have a good night," I answer. He backs away and almost trips over a stool. I chuckle and swivel my body back towards Lindsay. She's wearing this shit eating grin and I just bring my drink back to my lips, downing the last of it.

"Don't say anything," I warn her. She holds her hands up and bites down on her lip, holding in her laughter.

"I wasn't going to do anything other than congratulate you on the amazing pull I just witnessed," she chuckles. I roll my eyes. A small smile breaks its way through and it feels really good. To have someone else look at me like that, want me like that. Not as good as…but good.

"I'm going to head home," I state, pushing my empty glass away. Lindsay tries to wave down her new amusement, but he's winking at another girl at the end of the bar.

"You just got here," she whines playfully, pawing at my arm. I laugh and pull out of reach.

"I said one drink and I gave you two. It's not my fault you were too busy making eyes at the man candy," I chide. She laughs and raises her drink. I lean in and kiss her cheek.

"Call me later and we'll figure something out for next week," I tell her before heading out. The air outside is tepid, but I shiver nonetheless. I forgo my car, wanting the walk to clear my head. It's only four blocks regardless.

By the time I reach my apartment, I can hardly feel any lasting effect of the two drinks. I take the stairs slowly, the day's work catching up me. Only two flights between me and my bathtub.

When I reach the top steps, I pull my keys out, trying to remember, as always, which one opens my door. I stop for a moment and decide on one before looking up. And then I drop my keys to the ground.

"Hey," Edward breathes. He's stretched out on my hallway, a pile of folders and an open backpack next to him. My eyes rake over the entire scene in front of me. My keys stay on the floor, forgotten.

I open and close my mouth several times. This isn't happening. I meet his eyes and I can see apprehension there, uncertainty. And how can he be so casual about it, like it's the most normal thing in the world for him to be sitting in my hallway.

"I was hoping I read the address right. But then you didn't come home. Jessica said she thought you'd be home a couple of hours ago," he rambles. He pushes against the wall, standing gradually. Once upright, he stretches slowly. His hand reaches for his hair, but meets his beanie instead.

My whole body thrums with emotion, unable to compute what is going on.

"I was out with a friend. What are you doing here?" I ask. Direct is all I have. I can't try for coy or aloof, my brain is in overdrive. He shuffles his feet a few times and sighs.

"Did you know that when you have mail forwarded from a previous address, it takes a ridiculous amount of time for it to show up?" he asks. And my heart stutters. I take a small step back and gnaw on my lip.

"How long?" I ask. Because I have to know. Because I am not entirely convinced that this isn't a figment of my vodka clouded mind. Maybe I'm feeling the alcohol more than I thought.

"Weeks, months even. I had given up on ever getting mail from Chicago, and then yesterday I got a fucking pile of it," he offers. He raises his eyes to meet mine and I feel a tug. Everything that was scabbing over is now raw, exposed.

I don't know what to say. I had written this off, made it an impossibility in my mind.

"Most of it was junk mail, a few lingering bills. But then I saw an envelope, with a post mark from Seattle," he continues. A couple of shaky breaths escape me, but I can't take my eyes off him. He takes a few steps towards me, but I can't even move at this point.

"I thought you didn't want any part of me. After that night I was sure I was written off as just someone our sister once dated. And, then I get this letter and the best fucking mix CD I've ever gotten," he smiles tentatively.

"You liked it?" I ask. I duck my head immediately, regretting my words. He says all of that, and that's my reply? He chuckles and places a finger under my chin, bringing my eyes back to him.

"Stayed up last night listening to it. Maybe read into it a little more than I should have," he chuckles. I smile back at him, my body warming in a way I had forgotten. The reality hits me like a sledgehammer. He's here. He got my letter, and he's here. Suddenly, everything I've wanted to say, to explain, builds up inside of me, threatening to spill out.

"I didn't know. When you came and we went to dinner. I didn't know that you weren't with Emma anymore," I stutter. This is where all our wires got crossed. He needs to know that I didn't reject him, not knowingly, not willingly.

"It was a blow to the ego for sure. I hoped that night, but you were so decisive," he admits. His words are gentle, but tentative. I hoped my letter would suffice, that he wouldn't make me say these things out loud.

He reaches for my hand again, mimicking that night, and I don't hesitate to let him take it. He smiles to himself as he twines our fingers together. His eyes are fixed on our joined hands, while mine are fixed on his face. His face falls and he releases my hand suddenly.

"Am I too late?" he chokes out. I follow his gaze to my hand, to the numbers and name written in a large sloppy script. Our hands fall apart. I immediately lick my opposite thumb and try to erase the letters and numbers.

"No, no, it's just someone I keep running into," I rush. He keeps his distance, his eyes once again lowered to the floor. I come closer to him this time.

"But, what about Emma?" he presses. And there it is. The last _real_ question, the hesitation between us. The words stop my progress, keeping him just out of reach. I swallow. The answer is easy. For once this is about me, what I want.

"I want this, you. I do a lot of things because other people want me to, expect me to, but this is about what I want. Just this once," I answer. This time, there's hope in his eyes.

"You sure? I mean, I know I look like an ass. That it seems that I'm jumping from one sister to another, but it's not like that. _I'm _not like that," he insists. I nod, showing him I agree.

"And I don't want to screw up anything between you two. She loves you so fucking much," he swallows. Another nod and another step towards him.

"We talked, about you, and about the letter. And she'll be ok with this. _Because_ she loves me so fucking much," I explain softly. Another slight smile from him. I reach for his hand this time and he meets me halfway.

A heightened silence settles in between us. Our tangled hands move around each other, feeling, clenching. I almost forget where we are, everything but him, but then someone enters the hallway, eyeing us and Edward's mess of papers on the floor. It breaks through out bubble and I remember my discarded keys.

I scramble away from him and scoop my keys back up.

"Can you come in? Do you need to go?" I ask as I fight with my lock. He's crouched down, gathering up his papers, shoving them into this pack. Another shoe falls. I don't even know where he ended up, where he calls home.

"I can come in, if you want me to?" he replies. The door finally opens and I motion him in with a quick nod of my head. He follows and hovers in the doorway as I switch on lights and try to make the place presentable.

Like he did at the store, his eyes are everywhere. I want to know what he's thinking, what comes from his visual inventories. I slip my shoes off and make my way back towards him. I slide the backpack from his shoulder and set in on the floor.

I takehis hand and tug him into the living room. My heart is beating a staccato in my chest. Without all the restrictions between us, I don't know how to approach him.

"Why do you do that?" I ask. The words escape in a bout of nervousness. He meets my eyes again.

"Do what?" he grins. I lick my lips and swallow.

"Look at everything like that. Like you're trying to memorize it?" I clarify. He sinks back into my couch and I grin at the familiarity of the action.

"I'm trying to figure you out. And everything seems so deliberate, like it means something," he answers. And my heart swells, wanting to let him in, for him to take residence there.

"How long are you here?" I blurt. It all feels temporary, like at any moment he'll vanish and it'll all be an illusion. He cocks his head to one side and looks confused.

"That depends on you. I don't want to overstay my welcome," he chuckles. I duck my head and shake it.

"Not in my apartment. In Seattle," I correct myself. A small smile crosses his face.

"Until the firm gets sick of me I guess," he answers. He moved here. Even thinking that I had rejected him. The thought warms me, knowing that he made this decision in spite of me and not because of me.

He tugs on my hand, breaking me from my thoughts and I sink into the couch next to him. I have no clue what's going to happen, if we'll even want each other now that it's not forbidden.

But that slow burn has been reignited inside of me and it's demanding I find a way to allow him to slide back into my life. Into the empty spot that has seemingly been waiting for his arrival.

He pulls me into his side and just begins talking, telling me stories about his new life in Seattle, and as I listen the burn intensifies.

My resolve hardens. The desire grows. I pepper in my own stories, slowly showing him pieces of myself. The exchange is easy, natural.

Not that I'm expecting an instant fairy tale ending, a relationship devoid of any bumps or cracks, but regardless, I want it to work. Want to work at this, put time, effort and emotion into this man.

For a brief moment, Emma flashes through my mind, but it doesn't draw panic like I would have thought. Instead, I feel calm, peaceful. What we have is bigger than the worry that people will talk. It's stable and strong and will survive things much more devastating than this. It might be raw, uncomfortable at first, but only at first.

She'll push past it because that's what we do. And I'll let go of my guilt to have something I really want. My lips curl into a slight smile and I exhale, feeling the reassurance settle in around me.

I refocus on Edward and his story. I smile up at him as his face screws up at a particular moment in his story. I press my lips to the underside of his chin and he freezes. He tilts his face down and brushes his lips slowly across mine, I smile into the kiss. I press my lips back against his softly and pull away slowly.

Nothing more than a culmination. A beginning and ending, all in one. And I would do it all over again to end up in this place, with this man.

***

**http://www(dot)mixpod(dot)com/playlist/46651845 --------- mix cd link ( remove the word dot and replace with a . )**

**we're coming to the end :( i always knew this would be short, but you all have made me wish it would drag on for so much longer....**


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N- I'm beyond sorry for the delay. I was reluctant to let these two go :( To everyone who has read, reviewed can't say enough. Thank you seems to lack. Without further delay....the last chap**

**thank yous and more a/n at bottom**

***

EPOV

The air in the car is thick. I shift uncomfortably in my seat, trying to get away from the nervous tension floating around me. This isn't a feeling I'm used to when we're together. It's why things have been so simple, so seamless, thus far in ourrelationship.

Being together just works. It's like breathing or walking, I don't even have to think about it.

The music continues to pulse through the speakers, the only sound in the car. The choice of music should have been a giveaway. After eight months, I know her well enough to know that "Explosions in the Sky" equals apprehension. She designates it her 'needs to chill the fuck out' music.

I angle my body towards her and take her in. The familiar warmth I feel when I let it sink in that she's with me, flares up immediately. Even though her body is rigid as she grips the steering wheel, I still can't help the urge to reach out and touch her. Just to make sure she's real.

It wasn't exactly a walk in the park getting to this point. There were moments, really long, uncertain, shitty moments, where I was sure that this was an impossibility. I mean, the odds were stacked against us like a brick wall. But that doesn't mean I didn't hope for it.

I knew it was a rat bastard thing to do, to harbor a crush on my supposed girlfriend's sister. Not only did I know it, but most of the people in my life that I admitted it to, had no problem confirming it. But what the hell was I supposed to do?

Bella takes a deep breath and breaks me from my thoughts. Her hands flex against the steering wheel and her thumbs tap along to the instrumental beat. The corner of my mouth twitches up into a smile. It's one of the things that tie us together, the music.

I'd never met another person who seemingly feeds off music like I do, until her. Maybe that's what the initial draw was. I brush the thought away just as quickly as it appears. As if I could explain it away that simply. I wish it had been that simple. Then it may have been plausible for me to label the fascination and force it to the back of my mind. But, like all things that have to do with Bella, it wouldn't go down without a fight.

The car lurches to a forceful stop as a light turns red and my hands slam against the dashboard as I brace myself. It takes a few moments and a few more deep breaths before my heart slows to a reasonable rate. My eyes rake towards her.

She's all but shaking. _Shit_. I twist towards her and cover her hands with my own.

"Bella, ladybug, pull over the car," I request softly. Her eyes jerk over to meet mine and my heart clenches at the uncertainty in her eyes. That look is the reason I almost didn't move to Seattle. It's the thing that kept me at bay for weeks. And what I ultimately decided to risk when I asked her to dinner that first time.

"What? Why?" she asks, a little too frantically. I inch as close as my seatbelt and the center console will let me.

"Just pull over for a sec," I instruct. A horn blares behind us, alerting us to the now green light. Bella's eyes shift back to the road and she eases into a parking lot. She puts the car into park, her movements harsh, exaggerated.

I mentally scold myself for not pushing her harder to talk about this before we left. I knew she was on edge, I could see it in her every move. But I let her tell me she was fine. Rookie mistake.

"Why are we pulled over? I told you to go to the bathroom before we left," she scolds. I can't fight off the chuckle that falls from my lips. In moments like, this I can so clearly see our future together. Her furrowed brow and mom stare.

"I just don't want you to take out an innocent driver in your 'just fine' state," I offer, turning her words from earlier back around on her. Her eyes narrow and I grin back at her.

"I know you're not implying I'm a bad driver," she hisses. This might have been scary if she weren't so adorable when she got mad. It resulted in most of our fights ending in bed. Another reason I'm over my head and don't give a shit.

"No, I'm telling you that you're so hyped up over this, that you're going to run someone off the road," I clarify. Her shoulders slump a little with my words. She sinks back into her seat and her eyes fall to her lap. And that's how I know I was right all along.

I ease my fingers under hers and pull her hands from the steering wheel. They're cold from lack of circulation, so I hold them between my own, rubbing them softly as I wait for her. That's one lesson I've learned. There is no rushing Bella, no telling her when 'the right' time is. Sometimes, you just have to sit back and wait.

It sounds kind of shitty and can be if you're the one waiting, but it usually pays off. Sometimes, even in fantastically awkward letters and epic mix CDs. The music continues to play between us and I keep her hands in mine, even though they've already warmed back up.

"I bet we could still get a table at Mercy if we wanted. I could tell my mother that you came down with something last minute," she rambles. I suck in a mouthful of air and let my eyes slide closed. I will not take this personally.

I knew that this would be hard. For both of us. Meeting parents is one of those things that never gets easier. Imagine meeting parents for a second time, with a second daughter. I can't think of many things that are more awkward. But for her, it's worse. Or at least that's what I'm telling myself to keep from feeling offended.

"Is that what you want? To put this off again?" I press. This moment could have already happened, been in the past instead of the present. But two days before Thanksgiving, Bella decided it would be better to visit my parents. Not that my mother minded at all. She took to Bella like a house on fire.

"It could be nice. Christmas with just the two of us?" she offers. I grind my teeth a little and pull my eyes from her. The offer is tempting. To have her to myself for a couple of days would be a gift in and of itself. Between the firm and her shop, we're lucky if we see each other a couple of hours a day.

"If you wanted to do that simply because you can't get enough of me, then I would say yes. But this isn't about me and you know it," I argue. It's a struggle to keep any humor in this conversation. As much as I already know what's eating at her, I want her to say it. I need to her to admit to herself what she's really afraid of. Then maybe we'll have a chance in hell at overcoming it.

She shifts in her seat again and I wait. I watch as she opens her mouth to speak and then snaps it back shut again.

"I just don't know how this is going to go down. I mean, Emma _says_ she's cool with this. My mom _says_ it's going to be fine, but what if it's not? What if we're walking into some kind of predestined trap?" she spits out. And there it is. It always comes back to this.

I release her hands and reach up to rub my head. My hand gets caught up in my beanie and I tug it off out of frustration. It seems overly hot in here at the moment, despite the snow outside.

My eyes flick up to meet hers and I hate the worry and doubt I see there. It's out of place. This girl, this woman, I've never seen her let shit get her down. Not even when I let it pull me down. She's always pulling me back up. I guess it's my turn now.

"Do you think that we should end things between us?" I ask simply. Her sharp intake of breath echoes through the small space. It's what I was going for, the shock factor. Something to knock her back into reality. Into a place where she realizes that the people we are about to see would never write her off. And definitely have not shit listed her simply for being with me. At least, I hope that's the case.

Selfishly, I insist internally to myself that it is. And I would know. I've seen the love these two sisters have for each other from both sides. I watched as Emma adored Bella from a long distance. As she struggled to remain close, despite the miles between them.

And I've watched as Bella has bent over backwards to stay connected to Emma. Gone out of her way, probably because of me, to reassure her, to support her. If these two were a romantic couple, they would be in it for the long haul. Selflessness and love like that just can't be torn apart.

"No." Her firm answer draws me back to the moment. The small smile that inches across my face is unstoppable. I didn't doubt her answer, but it still feels good to hear it. We may not have started in the best way possible, but we're solid now.

"Do you honestly think that if they didn't want us to come, your mother and sister would have called daily to make sure we were?" I continue. Her lips curl up minutely at this. I know she's apprehensive. I know that it will be awkward as hell to attend a family gathering that just a year ago, I went to with her sister. But we need this.

"You're right," she gives in. I lean across the center console, ignoring the seat belt digging into my hip and press my lips to hers soundly. She presses into me fully, taking my bottom lip between hers and nipping slightly before pulling away.

The smile she offers me is worth the tension heavy drive thus far. I settle back into my seat as she shifts the car back into drive. Her hand fumbles with the volume and kicks it up a few notches before reaching for my hand. I take it willingly and try to relax.

Despite my efforts to talk her down, I'm still nervous. Even though we're eight months into this relationship, and it's going pretty damn well if I do say so myself, it still feels like too much is riding on this.

We've managed to avoid the repercussions of our beginnings to this point. No one in my new life knows where we met and most of Bella's friends, apart from Lindsay, are equally as clueless. And we've basked in the ease of it all. But now we're both facing the obstacle that seemed so impassable to begin with.

The possibilities if we survive this are endless. There won't be a thing in the world standing between me and a future with this woman if this holiday goes down without too much damage.

The car eases into the drive and my heart kicks into overtime. I squeeze her hand and offer a smile and hope to God it's believable. I push myself from the car and towards the trunk for our bags before I can over think any more.

Bella reaches inside for her own bag but I smack at her hand. She smiles and chuckles, smacking back. I throw a gentle shoulder her way and take both bags before she regains her balance.

"Don't even try it, ladybug," I warn. She gives me a sad attempt at an evil eye. I laugh and roll my eyes. Her lips are pouted out and just as I lean in to taste them, a throat clears to my right. Her father steps towards us and reaches out for the bags. I feel my face flame. Great way to start out.

"Hey dad," Bella says. They don't embrace, just exchange soft smiles, but I was ready for this. Something I found out fast is that this family dynamic is far from my own. Bella takes after her dad. They're both strong willed and on the quiet side. And then, there's the other two. The polar opposites.

"Your mother says I'm supposed to take your bags up to your room. And that if I make any comments or threats, I will be sleeping on the couch," he grumbles. His eyes lock on mine and I try to smile, but I'm sure I fail.

"So you wanted to threaten Edward covertly then? Nice dad. Very smooth," Bella laughs. She bumps her shoulder into her dad's and his face breaks into a smile if only for a moment. They head towards the house and I remain frozen in place. One down two to go.

This is what I was worried about. This moment, this holiday, being so rough that Bella pulls the plug on me. I don't harbor any illusions. I know that at this point, she'd pick them over me. Even if I hope that someday it will be the other way around, I don't want her to ever have to make that choice.

I hang back and watch as Charlie wraps an arm around Bella's shoulder as they enter the house. Just before they are out of sight she turns and grins at me. And just like that, I'm no longer nervous. This isn't some passing fling or even a casual relationship.

My courage swells and I jog up the steps. The déjà vu of the situation is not lost on me. Last year, things were different, hell everything was different then. Emma and I had only been out a few times over a couple of months, but her natural urge to please played in my favor when I asked to follow her home.

It was a low blow really. Asking to tag along on a family holiday with a girl I didn't even call my girlfriend. But I'm nothing if not impulsive. If curiosity really kills the cat, I've used far more than my nine lives at this point.

There was something about Emma, something about the way she moved with such complete confidence, the way people were just drawn to her. I wanted to figure her out, discover the source of her appeal. And then, there was the mysterious sister. The one who made every mix CD in Emma's car, the one who made her laugh so hard she cried.

So I let my curiosity drive. I left obvious hints and got an invite. I had no idea things were going to play out the way they did. In my mind, I would go home with Emma, observe, discover and go home. There was never any delusion of it meaning anything more than that.

But Bella was a surprise. I already knew she had eclectic musical taste, but everything else about her just sucked me in like an irreversible vortex.

I slam into a hard object and I stumble back a few steps. My hands reach out to steady myself and I chuckle and shake my head. Of course I almost fall on my ass in this moment. The smile stays in place as I raise my eyes.

Emma stares at me with a mixed expression I can't quite read. The smile falls from my lips and I lick them quickly as I shuffle my feet. So much for easing into this. One turn into the house and I run head on into the biggest hurdle, literally.

"I was wondering if you were going to come in. Or just lurk around outside," she states. I want there to be humor in her voice, but I can't be sure. I never knew her that well. Optimistically, I throw her a lazy smile and a shrug.

"Didn't want to impose," I reply. Her eyes furrow and darken. I swallow quickly and my eyes dart around, looking for Bella. I need her to smooth this moment over, to provide me with some sort of reassurance.

Emma's jaw tightens as she stares me down. I fight the urge to cower under her gaze. There isn't any reason for this to go badly. She knew about her sister and I before. And we ended on good terms, very mutual terms. But if this is what she needs to move on, to accept me, us, then I'll take it.

The silence drags on between us and I'm amazed at how different silence can be. How much this moment differs from the moment in the car just an hour before. The love, the trust is missing from this, and it makes the whole thing feel cold and hellishly scary.

Emma and I were great friends. She was happy to take the attention and I was happy to stay in the background. But it was never more. The pulse of emotion, the rush of anticipation was always missing.

"Listen, I know we haven't talked since this all went down and I know that it seems shady and sketchy and possibly even a little ass hole-ish, but I love your sister. And that's all there is. I don't give a shit about any of the rest of it," I blurt. The silence finally broke me down. My breaths heave out of me after the words are gone.

I squeeze my eyes shut and clench my jaw briefly. When I open my eyes my mouth gapes a little at the smile on Emma's face.

"Fair enough," she relents. My brows crease. What in the name of all that's holy?

"Excuse me?" I guffaw. Her face breaks into an almost smile and I'm sure I've entered an alternative universe. What happened to the attack sister from a moment ago?

"I'm going to try with everything I have to be ok with this. I might suck at my efforts and you might take the brunt of it, but I know she loves you and I'm going to try," she offers. I swallow and nod along with her words. In an ideal situation, I would be granted a pass, but reality is hardly ever ideal.

"That's all I can ask for. If there's anything I can do to make it easier, on you, on her, I will," I tell her. She heaves out a breath and nods heavily.

"You make it so damn hard to hate you. You know that?" she grumbles. A small smile breaks through and she shakes her head. The room around me comes back into focus as the fear melts away.

"Thank you Emma, for trying," I say solemnly. She nods and jerks her head towards the voices in the back. I trail behind her, reeling from the confrontation. After I clear away the apprehension, I start to let a little hope filter in. This could be fine. I scold myself for my inner pessimism. It WILL be fine.

We enter the kitchen and I lean against the doorway. Renee and Bella are sitting at the table and my body stiffens when I see Bella's body language. Her back is rigid and even though her mom is grinning, she's straight faced.

"Look who I found," Emma sing-songs as she enters. Both heads turn towards me and I smile when I catch Bella's eyes. Her body relaxes slightly. She reaches out a hand and I step closer to tangle my fingers with hers.

"We were wondering if Charlie had managed to scare you away," Renee muses. Bella rolls her eyes and I smile.

"Not a chance. Just giving you all a chance to catch up," I explain. No need to talk about the interrogation that went down in the front hall. I sink into the chair next to Bella and fade into the background. I'm happy to simply watch as the three of them banter and tease. Bella's fingers move in mine every so often, reminding me that she knows I'm here.

The stress of the day finally hits me and I slump back into my chair, my body feeling the exhaustion of my mind. The soft voices around me only contribute to my comfort. I'm almost convinced that all our worry was for nothing, when Bella's hand tenses around mine.

My mind grasps onto the words formerly swirling through my mind.

"So Andrew flies in tomorrow?" Renee asks. The name is vaguely familiar.

"Yeah, dad and I are going to pick him up," Emma replies. My mind works in overtime, trying to piece all of it together. Andrew must be the guy Emma is seeing.

"I could drive you Em," Bella offers. Emma and Renee freeze and exchange a look. A look that makes my spine bristle. Despite the fact that Bella is deathly loyal to these people, I've seen their claws. Especially when it comes to her.

"I don't know Bella. We wouldn't want Andrew running off after you too," Renee quips. And Bella freezes. Her whole body is tense and I can see her eyes glisten. _Shit_.

"Yeah B, I better stick with dad. I don't want to lose Andrew to your musical powers," Emma adds with a chuckle. Bella swallows and licks her lips. On the one hand, it's great that they are ready to joke about this, but I know Bella isn't there yet. She's still not convinced she's been absolved.

I tug on her hand and force her to meet my gaze. She smiles wearily at me. Not at all convincing. Another swallow.

"I'm gonna go make sure that dad put the bags in the right room," she says. She's up and out of the room before anyone can protest. Renee and Emma exchange looks and I grit my teeth.

"We were just having a little fun," Emma breathes. Movement in the kitchen resumes like that statement released them from all responsibility. Why didn't Bella inherit this trait? The lack of guilt gene.

"You're just going to let her go?" I ask. They both freeze and eye me as if they forgot I was here.

"She'll be fine. She just gets this way sometimes," Renee offers. I huff at her answer. I meet Emma's gaze, but she simply shrugs.

"So that's it? You just say whatever the hell amuses you and she can just get over it?" I ask. A small sliver of shame falls over their faces. Good.

"She knows we didn't mean it like that," Emma argues. I roll my eyes.

"I'm going to go check on her," I announce, shoving back from the table. They both watch as I leave. Maybe I should have kept my mouth shut, but she's put her ass on the line for me, the least I could do is return the favor.

I wander through the house, not knowing where her room is. In the end it's the only closed door. I knock softly and press my ear to the wood, waiting for a response. Nothing.

I ease the door open and resist the urge to pause to take the space in. Instead I zero in on the lump under the covers. The smile on my face is unavoidable. My feet are almost silent across the plush carpet. Once I reach the edge of the bed I lift the covers and slip underneath.

She doesn't resist as I pull her against me in her little fort. Her chin is tucked down into her chest, her body curled into a ball. So this is Bella at home, Bella in self-comfort mode.

"Hey," I whisper. I put a finger under her chin and lift her face to meet mine. Her eyes are glassy and red, but no tears to be seen. I offer her a small smile and press my lips to hers briefly.

"Hey," she breathes. We stay like that for awhile. I run my fingers up and down her back and watch as she uncurls slowly, pressing into me more fully.

"Sorry," she states. I chuckle in disbelief.

"For?" I press. This should be interesting.

"That, down there. I should have just sucked it up. They were just joking around," she sighs. I roll my eyes again. I nudge her nose with mine until she meets my eyes.

"There is no reason to apologize. They made a classless joke and it stung. Where's the fault in that?" I demand softly. One side of her lips rise minutely.

"Of course you see it like that. You have to be on my side," she mutters. I sneak another quick kiss.

"Not true. I actually find it a lot more fun to argue. You know this," I tease. More of a smile. She snuggles in closer to me and I shift to accept her.

"You didn't have to come up here. I would have come down…eventually," she adds. I turn my face to kiss her behind her ear.

"Yes I did. You're the only person here I really want to spend time with. Where you go, I go," I reason. A real smile, finally.

"And there is it," she chuckles. I grin at her and rub my cold feet against hers.

"What?" I press.

"Another reason to love you. Good lord. I didn't think the list could get any longer," she huffs. This time she presses her lips to mine. I dart my tongue out to touch hers and sigh when she opens her mouth to me.

I explore her mouth, tasting the hot chocolate she was drinking earlier. Her tongue twists with mine for a moment before she pulls way and presses her lips to mine twice quickly.

"I need that list to be long. Give you plenty of reasons to keep me around," I say. I'm teasing, sort of. She smacks at my shoulder and I wince exaggerating.

"If your list is any indicator, you'll be around for a long time," she replies. I smile because I just can't help it.

"Yeah?" I ask. She grins back at me.

"Like you didn't already know that. You big pushover," she laughs. Even if I did know, it's still nice to hear. We fall into silence, breathing in each other's exhales.

"You burrow under here often?" I ask. The laughter that bubbles from her is contagious.

"That sounds like possibly the worst sex up line ever," she says. I try to pull away, but she grips onto me, laughing.

"You know what I meant. Dirty mind," I grumble.

"You love my dirty mind," she smiles. Another quick kiss.

"I love you and your dirty mind," I amend. And in this moment I'm so content it's insane. Under a quilt, in my girlfriend's parents house and I couldn't be happier. Our path was rough as hell, but the end result was worth it.

***

**A/N 2.0- a HUGE thank you to sadiyah who worked with me every word of the way to make this as error free as possible :) another thank you to .hello for offering endless pretty for inspiration.**

**another HUGE thank you to everyone who has rec'd this story. Especially CPW 3**

**want more from these two? I'm participating in the fandom gives back auction in June. Bid and I'll give you another peak ;)**

**http://www(dot)thefandomgivesback(dot)com/**


	10. outtake one

**A/N- So this is was an unexpected addition to this story. The FABULOUS risbee and coldplaywhore requested this little diddy for FGB. They were also nice enough to let me share it with all of you! A little look forward into the lives of E&B.**

**Thank you to all of you who have read and reviewed this. It really is my baby and I appreciate it SO much.**

**Must give a very special thank you to yogagal who was nice enough to beta this for me, if you don't read her story The Hood, you need to! It's an amazingly realistic high school fic that I happen to LOVE.**

**As usual, I don't own, simply borrow and mold for my own person amusement.**

**Song credits at end.**

~xoxox~

There's such a comfort in things that never change. Knowing that despite whatever whirlwind may sweep me up, some things will always be the same. Like the knotty wood of my workbench or my morning calls to my sister.

"It's just ridiculous. I mean who really expects people to wear Hammer pants? It's a complete waste of my time to try and make them look good," Emma rambles. I chuckle lightly. If one could truly hate inanimate objects, Emma would hate half the fall collection she's covering.

"Well, try to make them look not like Hammer pants?" I offer. This is so far from my expertise its not even funny. I'm trying to suppress the visual of Jessica coming in wearing said pants because she saw them in Emma's magazine.

Emma lets out a long exasperated sigh and I try not to laugh even harder. I am hardly one to mock, I've been in tears over damaged flowers before.

"I might just pawn it off on an intern and call it good. How are you?" she sighs. Her words draw me back to the task at hand, my fingers toying with the stems in front of me, trying to find the perfect placement.

"Things are good, dying down now that the big wedding rush is over," I ramble, my thoughts more on the arrangement than the question. Business has been better. So good in fact, I've thought about either getting more help or turning down jobs. Not a bad place to be.

"And Edward?" Her question brings everything into slow motion. My hands pause above a snap dragon and I readjust the phone. It's all but normal now. Edward and I have been together far longer than he and Emma ever were and there's no longer the hesitation when she says his name, no deliberate enunciation.

"He's good. They've really been kinda hard on him at the firm. Making him pay his dues I guess. But, we're happy," I answer softly. Happy is almost an understatement. Even though we hardly ever see each other, the few moments are amazing. I can do absolutely nothing, and as long as he's there it's perfect. I shake the cheesy smile off my face.

"Well, that's good I guess. I'm glad you guys are doing well," she answers. It feels rehearsed, but I know she means it. It's such a far cry from the first months, when I tried to avoid his name at all, worried she would be hurt. Time and repeated scoldings from her have changed that.

"What about you and Scott?" I ask. I'm almost certain that's the current boy's name. I hope it is, at least. The question sends her into a flurry of words. Apparently he isn't much of a dancer, a serious flaw.

I let her words soothe me, falling back into my work. Too soon she's begging off, and I hang up with the assurance that I will call her tomorrow.

Without her words the space feels empty. I fiddle with my iPod and slip the buds into my ears. The music fills me up and I set my hands to work, eager to move closer to the few hours I get with Edward at the end of the day. It's been a frantic few days, hardly more than sharing a bed.

The phone screen lights up and there's a message from Edward, no words, just a picture of an insane pile of papers. Poor guy. It's his code for letting me know he'll be home late. I shove the disappointment down and focus on the work. Maybe tomorrow we'll get our time.

Music and flowers fill my time and when it's time to call it a day, I'm in no hurry. Trudging the two blocks to our apartment, uneager to spend the night alone with a box of macaroni and cheese.

I enter the small lobby and smile at Doug, the mailman. He pauses to smile back, probably still pitying me for the weeks I waited diligently for him not so long ago. I tug one bud out of my ear in time to hear his words.

"Well hello there Bella. How is the world of flowers treating you?" he almost chirps. This man is the antithesis of all mail worker stereotypes. Even his uniform looks cheery.

"Really well Doug. You still bringing joy in the form of junk mail?" I quip. He throws his head back and laughs. A real laugh, one that shakes his whole body. Just the sound makes me smile.

"Not everyone is as excited about mail as you are Miss Bella. But I do have some genuine letters for you today. With handwritten addresses and everything," he announces proudly. He hands me a stack of letters, the envelopes all different colors, the lot held together with twine. I look at my name neatly written on the top envelope.

"You getting fancy on me Doug? Twine?" I tease, plucking at the string. He grins and eyes the bundle again, shrugging his shoulders.

"That's not my handy work. Someone put some serious thought into that," he replies easily. My eyes refocus on the stack in my hand, one finger running over the sides of the letters, marveling at the colors and quantity. At least ten. Who would even be writing me a letter?

I'm so caught up in the mystery in m hands, that I don't hear Doug leave. When I look up, the lobby is empty and the setting sun has set the room ablaze. My fingers itch to pull apart the string an tear at the paper concealing what seems to be tiny secrets, but I restrain myself. Suddenly, this seems too important a task to be had in the lobby. I need my couch. And that letter opener on my desk I've never used. Might as well make this official.

The stairs and hallways are a blur of anticipation. I clutch the bundle to my chest and settle into the couch. The romantic idea of the letter opener is, once again, tossed aside as I tug at the string and spread the rainbow of envelopes over the coffee table.

My eyes drift over each letter, taking in the varying sizes and shapes and noting the same careful printing out of my name, so nondescript. I flip a few over, looking for return addresses and find instead numbers, in ascending order, one through eleven.

My hands set to work, lining them up in order, the mystery and anticipation bubbling inside of me. By the time I reach for the first letter, my face is splitting from my grins and my hands are shaking a little. Clearly I'm a little excited.

I rip open the top and pull out a note card. The writing here is familiar, unmasked by the slanted words and looping g's.

'_It all started with a song, a shared passion and a familiar melody. I never knew a mix CD could bring me to someone like you.'_

The words make my smile spread further. My eyes dart over the words several times, letting them warm me. Eventually curiosity gets the best of me and I lay it neatly on the table before reaching for the next one.

No more care is given in the opening process as I rush to devour his next message.

'_Yours is the first face that I saw. I think I was blind before I met you. Now I don't know where I am, I don't know where I've been, but I know where I want to go.'_

The words bring the familiar music to my mind and my smile wavers as I hold off the urge to cry. We had a long conversation once about the cheesiness of love songs and how there were very few that did the emotion justice. This one was our favorite.

I'm reluctant to give this card up, so I balance it on my thigh as I grab another. The blue envelope has tiny stars all over it and I chuckle wondering where he got all this stationary.

'_There are a lot of things I love about you. But my favorite things are the ones you don't even realize you do. Like how you always eat the cereal bits out of Lucky Charms, first. Don't you know you're supposed to eat the marshmallows first?'_

My eyes narrow slightly at his teasing. I thought he had given up on that argument. I like to save the best for last. The warmth of his words is blanketing me completely as I lay the blue card down reverently and slide the next towards me. If this is a make up for all the late nights, it is far too much.

'_I guess you don't need it, I guess you don't want me to repeat it, but everything I have to give I'll give to you.'_

My heart races at the words knowing their truth, even if they were borrowed from a song. I swallow and lick my lips, each note bringing the tears a little closer. It's so him to do something like this. Fits every part of who he is. Every part I have grown to know so well, and love even more.

I have the next envelope open quickly, eager to drink in more of his words.

'_It was never a fairy tale, but damn if the story of us isn't a hell of a lot more entertaining. Plus, there's never bedroom time in those stories, just a happily ever after. We can have both.' _

The laughter echoes around the empty apartment. Of course he would want to mention that. He may be one of the sweetest men I know, but he is a man. And he does know his way around the bedroom and make an amazing soundtrack for those moments.

I don't even pretend to spare the envelope as I rip into red paper.

'_Before I open up my arms and fall losing all control, every dream inside my soul. When you kiss me on that midnight street, sweep me off my feet. Singin' ain't this life so sweet?'_

I want all of these alternating songs playing around me, surrounding me with the words and emotions I know he wants me to feel. I take a shuddering breath and wish he were here. All this sweetness simply makes me crave him more. I don't know if after 18 months you're supposed to stop feeling that way, but I hope I never do.

Another envelope and I'm slowing, trying to savor it. I'm past the halfway mark and I don't ever want this to end. This tribute to our love, whatever he wanted it to be. It's filling me up and making me light.

'_Even on the days when you look at me like you want me to sink into a hole for awhile, I still want to spend every moment I have with you. 'Cause I like you that much.'_

My snort breaks the silence. There haven't been many times I've given him what he calls the 'curl up and die' look, but even as I unleashed it on him, I was already forgiving him. Funny thing love, it makes you soft like that.

I finger the next envelope for awhile, letting my eyes wash over the open cards in front of me. The words building, adding to one another and feeling like so much more than a simple gesture.

'_Now how I remember you, how I would push my fingers through your mouth to make those muscles move, that made your voice so smooth and sweet.'_

My face flushes at the lyrics, the words feeling intimate, almost licking at my skin. I lick my lips and imagine Edward here, sitting near me, just his gaze setting me on fire.

My mom used to try and tell me that sex was something you just willed to be over. I couldn't be happier that she was wrong, like with so many other things.

As I tug the next note open, I wish for just a moment that my mom could see this, could know how amazing the man who loves me is. Not that I need her approval, but I want her to be as happy for me as I am for myself.

'_At the end of the day, when I trip over your shoes on the way to bed, you're my very best friend. The person I want to share all my secrets with. The one I want to be the witness of my life.'_

I can feel the wet trails on my cheeks before I realize that my tears have finally won the battle. I suck in ragged breaths, no doubt look like an unattractive mess.

This is what I always wanted. When I dreamed of the person who would be my 'him', I wanted a best friend. Someone who was just as much my partner in crime as my lover.

I swallow thickly and know that all the shit we went through to get here was worth it. He is worth it. Every awkward phone call with my sister, every partial anxiety attack before a family get together. It was all such a small price to pay to have this man.

This man who over the last year and a half has become my family. Not that I could ever abandon my actual family, but this, this is a new pair, a tiny new family all its own.

The anticipation returns as I rip into yellow paper. I want to feel close to him, need his words.

'_And anything to make you smile, it is my better side of you to admire. But they should never take so long, just to be over then back to another one. But no one is ever gonna love you more than I do.'_

The grin on my face is so wide it hurts. The simple words express so much and make so much sense.

I reach for the final envelope, its green hue, dancing slightly as I turn it over in my hands. I'm not ready for this to end. The words and lyrics have swept me away and I want to stay adrift in him.

I'm so fixated on the paper in my hands I don't see him till he's right in front of me. I jump back a little, on hand covering my mouth. He smiles wildly at me, nudging my knees apart so he can kneel between them.

Every part of me is attuned to him, sucked into the very idea of him. His hands run up and down my legs several times before he smiles again.

"Aren't you going to open it? It is the last one after all," he chides. I swat the envelope at him and he rears back avoiding contact. There are so many things I want to say to him, show him.

Instead I tilt my body forward to press my lips to his, hoping the action will speak for me. He grins into my lips, sucking my bottom lip into his mouth.

"Open it," he says against my mouth. I peck his lips once more before leaning back enough to do as he asks. My eyes on his as my hands fumble to rip apart the paper.

His face is so open, honest, and full of something I can't quite place. The envelope finally falls away and I clutch the note card in my hands. Tearing my eyes away from his I read the final card.

'_Marry me.'_

The words don't process the first time I read them, so I read them again, and again. By the time I'm sure I know what I've read, I lift my eyes to find him grinning, his palm open offering an intricate silver band.

My eyes dart between his face and the band, my heart hammering in my chest. I reach out my hands, grasping his, feeling the ring dig into my left palm.

"Yes."

He leans forward into me, pressing his forehead to mine and lets his eyes slide closed.

"Say it again?" he requests. I return his smile and squeeze his hands.

"Yes."

~xoxoxox~

There's no surprise at her answer. I had known for some time that what we had would slip effortlessly into the category of forever, but the relief was somewhat of a shock. When that word fell from her lips, something was lifted from me, a weight I didn't know I had been carrying.

I take her hand in mine, tracing the familiar lines and ridges, before sliding the ring into place. She didn't want a diamond. It was the one thing Emma was adamant about when I asked her advice. Another slightly uncomfortable moment, but it needed to be done. I needed Emma's blessing as much as Charlie's.

"You have no idea how happy I am at this exact moment," I whisper. It feels appropriate to keep my voice low, to maintain this moment as sacred, because it is. It's still hard to believe that we actually made it to this point. Things with her are so different than any other relationship I've ever been in. Every fight, every point of contention has only brought us closer.

She weaves her fingers into my hair, keeping my forehead pressed to hers and grins. My favorite expression she wears, its wide and unapologetic. My face splits into a matching smile.

"Can't be any happier than I am. There could be entire albums dedicated to this kind of happy," she breathes. The chuckle comes without thought. I rub my fingers over the ring on her finger over and over, revealing in the feel of it, the metal heating under my touch. An internal chant reminding me that this is real. That I'd finally done what I had wanted to for so long.

The first time I knew I had to marry her was during a fight. I had left one of her favorite records out on the player overnight and it had warped. She was so angry I thought she was going to turn purple. And while she tore me a new one, I knew I wanted her forever. Even the way we fight feels right.

My hands make their way up her arms and wrap around her, pulling her to me. I sigh a little at the contact, the way her softness seems to fill in all my missing pieces.

"I wish I could be cool about this and say I wasn't nervous, but I am so damn happy you said yes," I chuckle, my lips almost against hers. Her tongue darts out to wet her lips and touches my lips every so slightly, I hum at the sensation.

"There wasn't the slightest chance I would have said no. Even if you hadn't written me, my now, favorite letters of all time. Even if you had asked me in front of a McDonalds, I would have said yes," she grins. And with that I press my lips over her, swallowing her last words.

I can feel her lips turn up against mine before she seals them around my top lip. We linger there for a moment, our lips pressed together, before I suck ever so gently on her bottom lip. I can taste the lip gloss she favors. The artificial berry getting in the way of what I really want to taste, her. As always she comes to life almost instantly, her hands pressing me towards her, her tongue darting out to wet my lips.

I'm sure that I should sweep her off her feet, carry her dramatically to our bed, but I can't be bothered. It doesn't matter, never matters, where it happens. It's just about her. This woman. I feel like that damn children's book. I could have her in a car, in a bed, in a shed…

Her fingers drag down my back, snapping my mind back fully into her. I kiss her more insistently, probing my tongue into her mouth. Her tongue tangles around mine, drawing out a moan in the process.

The sound fills the room around us, and kicks my need into gear. I tug at her clothing, not really caring if it ends up a little worse for the wear. All I can focus on in that I need to be close to her, to feel her completely. I have her shirt off quickly and she takes me face in her hands.

"There's no rush, I'm going to be around for a long, long time," she assures me, accenting her words with quick kisses to my parted mouth. My eyes slide closed and I envision her in all my important moments and then in every other moment as well.

Her hands tug and slide my shirt up until its bunched under my arms, I lift them willing, liking the act of her undressing me. I open my eyes when the shirt is pulled off and smile at her. She grins back and my mind is erased of all others.

All past experience, all other encounters, gone. I'm engulfed by her and our memories, the ones we've created and those yet to come. Our lips meet again, the frenzy erupting again. Her tongue, so soft and slick, against mine.

My hands reach behind her, undoing the clasp of her bra and then pulling it down and away from her. I don't need to see her to know what's there. Her body is burned into my memory, every dip, every curve.

Lips move from her mouth, over her jaw and down her neck as my hands reach to cup her breasts. A mutual sigh falls from our lips. I smile at the sound, kneading gently as I suck on her neck.

"I love you," she sighs and her words stop all movement, I pull my face away from her neck to grin at her.

"I love you too, so much," I answer, pressing my lips tenderly to hers. The words complete the circle, making the moment concrete. She takes my hands in hers and presses them back to her chest. I chuckle, loving her nonverbal pushiness, all too willing to resume.

My hand mold to the warm flesh of her chest, feeling her nipples pebble under my palms. I will never tire of feeling her respond to me, knowing her body reacts to me like this. Her head rolls back as my mouth drags down her collarbone and licks at the top of her breast.

My tongue traces the shape of her before dragging down the center of one breast to swirl around her nipple. Bella moans and I smile into her skin. I can feel her skin break out into gooseflesh as I ghost my hands over her side, settling at her hips. The skin there is so soft as I grip it, dipping one finger under the waistband of her jeans to stroke there.

Bella sighs out contentedly and I lick my way across to her other nipple. I would do this always, just to hear the noises she makes, and feel the way her body responds. Her hands find their way back into my hair, scratching my scalp and I hum against her skin. Her responding moan lights a fire in me.

Usually I would take my time, taste every inch of skin before making her arch into me as I tasted her in the most intimate of places, but today I just want her. The need to feel fused to her is coursing through me.

She lifts her hips and smiles at me as I tug her jeans and panties down in one motion. I kiss the inside of one knee and the rise of her hip as I pull myself back up to face her.

She takes my face in her hands and presses our foreheads together again, her lips so close to mine I can feel her smile.

"We're really going to do this? You sure you're not going to get sick of me?" she asks in a hushed whisper. I grin. I can't even fathom not wanting her near me all the time.

"As long as you pick up your dirty socks, I think I can handle you," I quip. She rolls her eyes and the fire ebbs for a moment until she wraps her legs around me. With a simple roll of her hips everything is ablaze again.

Another rock of her hips and I know what she wants. The joining is fluid, a coming home of sorts. Her body arches and opens to accept me and just like that everything is right in the world. She grips onto my shoulders and we start a slow build. A coming together and pulling apart that shatters the world a little with each movement.

This feeling will never get old to me, will never seem mundane. She makes these noises, little hums and moans as she gets closer, like a road map to her undoing. I chase them, seek after them, my pleasure a close afterthought.

I skim my hands down her sides, ghosting over her breasts and am rewarded with a humming sigh. My hips twist to find a better angle and she arches up at the new position, I smile and hold her there.

The look on her face as she comes undone makes my heart feel like its going to fucking burst. Her whole body tenses in pleasure and the tightness of her spurs on my release.

I roll her to her side, crushing her against me on the couch. The sheen of our bodies, molding us together. I get this forever. The grin can't be stopped.

"You know you said yes right? And you can't take it back," I warn her, still slightly out of breath. She rolls her eyes and chuckles.

"You are the one thing I never want to take back," she reassures me. I press my lips to hers, a slow lazy affirmation. It's true that it never ends or begins like you think it might, but I feel like a lucky little shit.

~xoxoxo~

**Thank you all again SO much!**

**If you're looking for something new to read, try anything by Nolebucgrl, there's a little something there for everyone!**

**Every other proposal note contains song lyrics here they are in order:**

**First Day of my Life- Bright Eyes**

**Shelter- Ray LaMontagne**

**This Year's Love- David Gray**

**In the Aeroplane over the Sea- Neutral Milk Hotel**

**No One's Gonna Love You- Band of Horses**


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